


A Hades Christmas Carol

by MsThunderFrost



Series: Achilles, the Relationship Counselor [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, American Sign Language, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal creampie, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Child Abuse, Established Relationship, Implied Felching, Inspired by A Christmas Carol, M/M, Makeup Sex, Professional Athlete Hermes (Hades Video Game), Relationship Problems, Vomiting, Workaholic Charon (Hades Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: From: Your Favorite Fiancé :Red_Heart: :Orange_Heart: :Yellow_Heart:I really hope that ur just running late, and u didn’t forget ur child’s first holiday concert.Seen at 7:46PMFrom: Your Favorite Fiancé :Red_Heart: :Orange_Heart: :Yellow_Heart:Bc if u actually forgot his holiday concert, ur sleeping on the couch for a month.Seen at 7:48PMHermes’ eye twitches as three dots appear in the bottom corner of his phone screen, before disappearing.--The ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future help a workaholic Charon to reconnect with his family. Set in the same 'verse as 'Achilles, the Relationship Counselor'.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game), Hypnos/Megaera (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: Achilles, the Relationship Counselor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2074767
Comments: 66
Kudos: 269





	1. The Holiday Concert

From: Your Favorite Fiancé :Red_Heart: :Orange_Heart: :Yellow_Heart:  
I really hope that ur just running late, and u didn’t forget ur child’s first holiday concert.  
Seen at 7:46PM

From: Your Favorite Fiancé :Red_Heart: :Orange_Heart: :Yellow_Heart:  
Bc if u actually forgot his holiday concert, ur sleeping on the couch for a month.   
Seen at 7:48PM

Hermes’ eye twitches as three dots appear in the bottom corner of his phone screen, before disappearing.

He doesn’t want to be _that_ parent that spends the bulk of their child’s holiday concert on their phone texting, but dammit… He’d been worried, for all of ten minutes, that something horrible had happened to his fiancé. It’d been snowing pretty heavily earlier that afternoon—what if he’d had a car accident? Now, as the concert continued to stretch on, and Charon had made the mistake of _opening_ his text messages (seriously, he would have to teach his fiancé how to turn off read receipts, if he wanted to go leaving him on read like this…)

He’d somehow convinced the whole family to sit together, in relative peace, for this concert. Aphrodite and Hephaestus were seated together at the far end of the aisle, with little Eros bundled up on ‘dite’s lap. Artemis was reading, which wasn’t ideal, but at least she’d actually shown up. Ares and Athena were fighting over something or other, and his Aunt Demeter was complaining about something that one of the kids had done in the hallways… His father and step-mother weren’t talking to one another (not that that was anything new). Thanatos hadn’t had a chance to change out of his scrubs before driving him and Zagreus over to the elementary school, and he’s pretty sure that Hypnos is using Meg’s chest as a pillow while he _sleeps_. The only one that’s missing is Charon—

The principal announces that the band is up next, and Hermes hurries to slide his phone into his jacket pocket. The members of the band are all shuffling onto the stage… and there is little Pan, looking ever so handsome in his suit and bow tie. Hermes still remembers having him fitted for it (he’d been the ring bearer in Apollo’s wedding a few months back, and thankfully the suit still fit). He’d pulled a full-on pout as the tailor had twisted him this way and that, twisting him up in the ruler to make sure that he had the most accurate measurements possible. Pan takes his seat on stage, before surveying the audience. Hermes gives him a little wave, and the boy smiles and waves back… before his shoulders slump a little, perhaps with the realization that _someone_ is missing.

Evander turns to him, a look of consternation on his little face, “Where’s Papa?” He hasn’t quite mastered the fine art of whispering, and his volume earns an irritated grumble from his Aunt Demeter.

“I don’t know.” Hermes says. He taps his foot impatiently, bouncing Evander up and down on his knee. “But I’m sure that he’s fine. Try not to worry about it too much, alright? Just try to enjoy the pretty music.” Not that there’s anything really enjoyable about elementary school music, but they’re here to be _supportive_.

“Should we videotape the concert for him?” Evander doesn’t seem to understand that Hermes was trying to _gently_ quiet him down. Demeter is now glaring at _both_ of them from the other end of the aisle.

“Grandpa Zeus is videotaping the concert—” He looks at his father, who has his phone camera facing the wrong way—the only thing he’s recording is his own red face as he bickers with Hera over absolutely _nothing_.

“Does he know how to work the phone?” Evander looks skeptical.

“I…” Hermes heaves a sigh, “I don’t know. I think so?” And then, grumbling underneath his breath, “Besides, if your Papa was so upset about missing the damn concert, he should have made an effort to come see it in person.” He twists his engagement ring ‘round and ‘round, his irritation mounting.

The rest of the concert goes by in a flash. Hermes is far too riled up to enjoy any of the music… but he can appreciate all of the effort that went into preparing it, and he’s beyond proud of his little boy for having the courage to pursue his current dream of playing the flute. Once the concert officially ends, the family files out into the hallway outside of the auditorium to wait for Pan to pack up his things. Ares and Athena are _still_ fighting. Meg is bitching about the fact that Hypnos got drool all over her chest, and Artemis walks straight into Zagreus’ back as she continues reading her book. And Charon… Charon _still_ hasn’t bothered to message him back, or call him, or do _anything_ , really. Hermes can’t remember the last time he was this pissed off.

“I mean, you didn’t _honestly_ think that he’d show up, did you?” Aphrodite muses, inspecting her garish acrylic nails for chips for the hundredth time that night. At least she wasn’t on her phone, though she’d come close a couple of times.

“I mean… yeah, I kind of did?” Hermes huffs, “This is his son’s first holiday concert, and he _did_ pay for the flute, and the private lessons… Okay, _I_ paid for them using his American Express black card, but _he_ paid the bill, so same difference.” Is he really asking for all that much? He doesn’t think so.

“Big brother has always been a bit of a workaholic…” Hypnos chimes in, “He’s probably still at the office, working overtime.” Well, yeah. Hermes had assumed as much—but that didn’t make any of this any better.

Everyone falls silent as Pan approaches, his flute case clutched close to his chest. “You guys… You all came.” His pale eyes search through the gathered family members, looking for one in particular, “Except…”

Evander reaches for his big brother’s hand, “Daddy said that Papa was fine, and not to worry about him not being—”

Pan’s lower lip starts to warble, “About him not being here? But he _promised_. I even watched him put in for the time off so that he could come tonight—” Tears are shining in the corners of his pale eyes.

“Now, Pan…” Hermes squats down so that he’s at eye level with the little boy. “I know that your Papa isn’t here, but look—everyone else came out to see your special day. Aunt Artemis came back from school six days early just to see you perform,” He frantically motions for Artemis to hide her book.

“ _I don’t care_.” Pan huffs, “He _promised_. You promised, too—and you managed to make it home in time for the performance.” And okay, the kid has a point. But he’s also being _incredibly_ rude—

“In my day, a child would _never_ talk like that to their father.” Demeter huffs.

Hermes rolls his eyes, “Yes, thank you for reminding me how awful I am at parenting my children, Aunt Demeter. If you know so much,” he snaps his mouth closed with an audible _click_. He really doesn’t want to know what would happen if he were to continue that train of thought…

Pan is inconsolable, and now almost every member of the family is irate at having been so callously dismissed by a seven-year-old child. Hermes knows that he should try and do some damage control (it’s two days before Christmas, after all, and almost all of their relatives will be coming over to their house to celebrate the holiday), but honestly, _everyone_ is annoying him right now. He starts to twist his engagement ring again. It wasn’t so long ago that they’d been considering a Christmas wedding… maybe it was for the best that they’d put things off.

It would be a _real_ shame if he chose not to show for that, either.

* * *

“…the end.” Pan and Evander are both out cold, bundled up in the middle of Hermes and Charon’s oversized water bed. Hermes doesn’t mind sharing, just for the night—and he has no idea how long it’ll be until Charon comes back.

A little over an hour later, Charon stumbles in their front door, his slicked-back ash-blond hair falling messily around his gaunt face. Exhausted as Charon appears to be, and pissed off as Hermes _still_ is, he cannot help but admit that Charon cuts an impressive image in his suit. He’d discarded his suit jacket somewhere along the line—likely as a result of the unseasonably warm weather that they’ve been having—and was loosening his tie as he stepped inside the door. His white dress shirt is stretched tight over his lean frame, accentuating his lean muscles. For being quite the stick, he is remarkably well built—he can lift Hermes with the greatest of ease (not that Hermes is particularly _heavy_ , thank you), despite Hermes being able to count on one hand the number of times he’s stepped inside a gym.

Charon doesn’t seem to notice him at first. He likely expects Hermes to be asleep—Hermes is quite the early riser, which means he’s usually in bed by ten o’clock, at the latest. When he _does_ see Hermes, he startles, dropping the briefcase in his left hand to the floor. It connects with a resounding _thud_ , spraying papers this way and that. Charon would likely have a fit about that, if he’d even realized that it’d fallen out of his hand. Time is money, after all. And there’s no point in wasting it cleaning up a mess caused by his own carelessness.

Hermes closes the distance between them, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing his fiancé with a glare. Charon doesn’t bother to pick up his paperwork, moving past Hermes to head into the kitchen to fix himself something to drink. The fact that he is so clearly attempting to avoid talking about this only serves to make Hermes’ anger bubble over. Hermes _really_ doesn’t want to start a fight, especially since the kids had just gotten off to sleep. But this is just the latest in a long string of incidents of Charon shirking his familial duties for _work_ … and Hermes isn’t going to stand for it any longer.

“Charon, love? We need to talk.”


	2. We Put the 'F' in Dysfunctional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text that is in [brackets] signifies sign language.

Charon raises one thin eyebrow, [What about?]

Hermes’ eye twitches, “I… there are no words to describe how absolutely _incensed_ I am right now, Charon. Do you have any idea how _devastated_ Pan was when he found out that you couldn’t be bothered to take _two measly hours_ off of work to come see his first holiday concert?”

[I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.] Charon blinks. Kneeling down, he begins to retrieve his paperwork and tuck the slightly wrinkled pages back into his briefcase. [There will be other concerts.]

“He threw his flute case across the room!” Hermes exclaims. He doesn’t think he’d ever been so thankful that Pan had chosen a somewhat durable instrument—a string instrument would’ve snapped like a twig.

Charon looks unconcerned, [If he doesn’t want to take proper care of his instrument, then we can always take it away. That flute cost a small fortune.] Which he only knew because of the slight spike in his credit card bill that month—not because he’d had anything to do with the actual _purchase_ of the instrument.

“We’re not… That’s not the _point_! He _knows_ how to take proper care of his instrument!”

[Clearly not, if he’s throwing it across the room in a fit of anger.] Charon sets his briefcase against the wall by the shoe rack, before toeing off his loafers. [Do you want me to talk to him?]

“Yes!” Hermes snaps, “I want you to _apologize_ to him.”

[For what?] The earnest confusion on his face grates on Hermes’ nerves like nothing else.

“I thought that you took PTO so that you’d only have to work a half-day today?” At least, that’s the story that Charon had told Pan. And, as far as Hermes is concerned, there’s no good reason to justify him lying about something like that. “So, explain to me why you’re walking in the front door at,” he checks his watch, “eleven o’clock at night?”

[I volunteered to stay late.] Charon signs, as he starts making his way into the kitchen.

“You _what_?” Oh, that was _absolutely_ the wrong answer.

Charon seems surprised by Hermes not-so-little outburst, but doesn’t comment—at least, not immediately. Instead, he makes his way into their dining room and pulls one of the stools back from their island counter, before motioning for Hermes to take a seat. Hermes crosses his arms over his chest and lets out a dramatic huff, clearly displeased with this turn of events. If Charon thinks he’s going to weasel his way out of this by acting like a gentleman _now_ , he has another thing coming. Hermes is like a shark who has caught the scent of blood in the water.

He takes the seat that Charon offers, crossing his legs at the ankles and tilting his chin up defiantly. Charon watches him for a moment, his features twisted in amusement, before wandering deeper into the kitchen to fix himself a glass of wine. He holds up a second glass in silent offering—Hermes is sorely tempted to flip him off, but manages to reign his baser instincts in just in time to offer him a curt shake of the head instead. Charon shrugs, entirely unaffected by Hermes attitude, and fills the glass near to overflowing.

They sit there in silence for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Hermes drums his fingers against his bicep, considering how best to approach this without it devolving into a full-fledged fight. After all, Charon might be a miser when it comes to the tremendous stacks of cash he’s accumulated in his short life, but he has a kind soul and he genuinely cares for others. Like after Thanatos had gotten injured at the nursing home, and he’d cooked meals for Thanatos and Zagreus _at least_ once a week to help ease the burden of their grocery bill. Or how he’d single-handedly helped keep his mother afloat after the birth of his youngest sisters—which had put her out of commission for _quite_ a while.

Hermes is having an _incredibly_ hard time reconciling _that_ man with the one standing before him, presently.

Charon had been staying late at the office ever since Hermes had come home earlier that month. And while it was _excellent_ for their bank account, Christmas was a time to spend with _family_ (be it blood or otherwise). Hermes had spent the bulk of his childhood wishing for a family that he actually _wanted_ to spend the holidays with… So, when he and Charon had gotten serious enough for Hermes to make a cameo at his family’s holiday get togethers, and Hermes realized everything that he’d been missing, he knew that he never wanted to spend another Christmas wondering if this would be the year Ares did something _stupid_ and ended up in the hospital, or if this would finally be the holiday that his step-mother snapped and walked out on their dad.

(Not that any of them would’ve blamed her. Honestly, it was amazing that they were _still_ together after all these years, considering that Hera kept getting left behind to raise the consequences of Zeus’ many, _many_ infidelities—

He says ‘consequences’ because Hera had absolutely called him—and at _least_ two of his half-siblings—that on more than one occasion.)

The _point_ was that they only had so much time with Pan and Evander before the wonder of Christmas (singing carols, baking cookies, watching movies, waiting up for Santa Claus…) gave way to the drudgery of adulthood. He got to spend so little time with his children, he wanted this, at least, to be perfect. Now, he has a child who’s convinced that the end of the world is nigh because his father didn’t show up for his concert, and another child who’s upset because his older brother is upset and therefore taking attention away from _him_. And Charon is acting like all of this is ‘no big deal’, because he gets to stroll in at eleven o’clock at night, after the kids have been put to bed and the devastation from the tantrums has been cleaned up—

“Why would you volunteer to stay late when—” Hermes eyes widen ever so slightly, “Did you ever actually _want_ to attend this concert in the first place?” He asks, his voice taking on a sharp edge.

[Not exactly. Have you ever heard those elementary school concerts? The only saving grace is that the kids are cute, because that music… could make your ears bleed.] Charon takes a small sip of his wine. [Mom used to drag me to Eris’ concerts all the time. The sounds she would make on the violin were absolutely unholy.]

“He’s your _son_!” Hermes’ face is flushed, tears burning in the corners of his eyes.

[That doesn’t mean that I want to sit through one of his concerts.] Charon shrugs, [Look, when he gets to high school, and can actually make sounds within the normal range of human hearing—]

“Charon!” Now, he’s yelling. His eyes skirt to the stairs, as if he’s half-expecting one of the kids to come running downstairs at any moment. “I-I can’t believe you’re being such an _asshole_.”

[I told you that I wouldn’t lie to you.] Charon takes another sip of his wine.

“Yeah, well… I’m starting to wish that maybe you had.”

[Seriously. This isn’t the end of the world. There will be other concerts, once he and his classmates are more advanced. He’ll calm down once he sees the stack of presents he has waiting for him under the tree.]

“Now you’re trying to _bribe_ our son?” Hermes is almost wishing he’d taken Charon up on that offer of wine.

Zeus used to bribe them with presents, too. Usually after Zeus had spoken out of his ass (most of the time, it was about Ares—and how he wishes that almost _anyone_ was his son instead). It made them feel better for all of thirty seconds, before it made them feel like they’d been bought out. They’d had some of the nicest toys to ever sit around, collecting dust. Artemis would rather read her books, Apollo would rather tend to his instruments, Ares and Athena… well, he wasn’t exactly sure _what_ they spent their free time doing, except yelling at one another, Hephaestus would rather be building something, _anything_ , and Hermes… well, Hermes loved being outside, playing sports, exercising… Anything that would take him far, far away from the craziness that was his family—

[Why are you getting so upset? All of this will be over in two days…] He seems so certain. It irritates Hermes even more. [You’ve had a rough night. Are you sure that you don’t want a glass of wine?]

Hermes shakes his head. No, he wants to be _completely_ sober for this. “Tell me this, Charon. Are you going to be here to help us make Christmas cookies tomorrow?”

Charon shakes his head, [I have to work.]

Hermes nods his head sagely. Getting up from his seat, he makes his way to the hallway closet and pulls out two of their suitcases. Charon follows him, confusion clear on his face as he hauls the suitcases upstairs to their bedroom and starts to stuff them full of clothes. He’s not even fully cognizant of _whose_ clothes he’s grabbing—he’s probably taking a couple of Charon’s casual clothes, too, but he can’t bring himself to care, not now. He can’t be around Charon right now, not after that trainwreck of a conversation that they’d had. If they keep on like this, he’s going to say something that he regrets… and the last thing that he wants for Christmas is to become his parents. Once he’s finished packing for himself, he moves on to the kids’ room.

Where is he going to go? His first instinct is to head to his father’s place, but he doesn’t think he can handle Zeus and Hera’s bickering right now. Maybe he could stay with Apollo and his wife? No… they’d just had a new baby, they didn’t need to deal with two small children and an emotionally distraught man. Artemis was out of the question, since she’d be staying with Zeus and Hera… Poseidon would welcome him with open arms, but his apartment wasn’t big enough to accommodate all of them comfortably. Which left Demeter and…

“Thanatos…” He whips out his phone, dialing Thanatos’ number. He picks up on the second ring, sounding like he’d been woken out of a dead sleep, “Hey, bro. Listen, I hate to ask you this, but would it be possible for the boys and I to crash with you tonight? I… we _can’t_ stay here, tonight.”

 _“Is something wrong?”_ Thanatos’ words are slightly distorted by a yawn.

Hermes finishes packing the kids’ suitcase, and begins to carry both downstairs. “Yeah, you could say that. I just found out that your brother skipped out on the concert tonight because he didn’t want to listen to how _badly_ the kids were going to play.”

 _“Oh, that…”_ Thanatos clearly doesn’t know what to say. That’s okay—Hermes wouldn’t either, in the same situation. _“Yeah, I… Zagreus, move_ over _, I need to get out of bed. Ugh…”_ There’s a startled _yelp_ on the other end of the line, followed by a resounding _thunk_. _“Let me make up the guest room.”_

“Thanks, man. I really owe you one.”

Charon watches him load the suitcases into the car. And then, watches him carry each of the boys downstairs, and strap them into their respective car seats. Never once does he try to stop him. Never once does he mention that perhaps Hermes shouldn’t be driving in his current state of distress. He just… lets it all unfold, like he doesn’t even care. In fact… is he still drinking that damned glass of wine? Hermes takes a deep breath—now that the kids are in the car, if he starts yelling, they’ll _definitely_ wake up.

He turns to Charon one last time, fire in his eyes, “I’d ask if you have anything else you’d like to say, but I’m pretty sure you’ll just manage to dig yourself into an even _deeper_ hole. So, just…”

[I mean, this is actually making my life easier. Without the kids, I can work through the night to finish the paperwork I wasn’t able to finish in the office today.] Hermes blinks. He was right, he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“You know what?” He slams the keys into the ignition and starts the car, “Enjoy your fucking paperwork.”


	3. An Unwelcome Visitor

A moment later, Hermes’ car disappears around the corner. Charon stands in the driveway for a moment, wondering how long it’ll take for Hermes to realize that he’s being ridiculous and turn the car around…

After five minutes, he decides that it’s too cold to be standing on the blacktop in his sock feet, and heads back into the house. If Hermes wants to throw a little temper tantrum, that’s fine. He’ll be back—if not tonight, then tomorrow, certainly. Until then, Charon intends to take full advantage of the fact that he has the house to himself. Wandering upstairs, he starts to run himself a bath (a luxury that he can ill afford with two rambunctious children running around the house). He adds a bit of the lavender-infused bubble bath that Hermes likes to use when he’s relaxing after a run, and then makes his way downstairs to fix himself another glass of wine. He’ll have to cut himself off at two glasses—he wants to make sure he’s sober enough to fill out the paperwork accurately.

While he’s refilling his glass, he happens to catch a glimpse of their Christmas tree. He hadn’t been there to help pick it out (Hermes had taken the boys to the tree farm one day after school, and they’d selected a beautiful evergreen that barely fit inside of their front door). Charon had tucked himself away in his office to work on last minute paperwork while they decorated it, though he had been persuaded to come downstairs and eat a couple of Christmas cookies. He takes a minute to admire their handiwork, before feeling a pang of irritation that Hermes hadn’t bothered to unplug the lights before storming off. Didn’t he realize that their electric bill was already skyrocketing, due to them all being home at the same time (and Hermes leaving all the damn lights on)?

While what Hermes had said was technically true—they weren’t hurting for money, and they never had been—he also didn’t want to spend more than was absolutely necessary because _someone_ couldn’t pull a fucking plug out of the wall. Heaving a dramatic sigh, he goes to unplug the tree—

And steps right on a piece of slightly wrinkled paper, still wet with paint.

It looks like one of the boys had painted him a picture—there’s even a little note underneath, written in a child’s sloppy hand. Given the messy state of the handwriting, Charon would put money on this being Evander’s handiwork. Charon’s eyes flit across the page as he considers Evander’s note:

_Dear Papa,_

_You asked me what I want for Christmas. All I want is for all of us to come together for a picture, just like this._

_Love,  
Ev_

The drawing is of Evander sitting on Charon’s shoulders, with one of Charon’s hands on his little legs to hold him steady, and the other reaching down to grasp Pan’s. They’re all smiling brightly (Charon can’t remember the last time he smiled like that—was it when Hermes had agreed to marry him?) at… Hermes? He’s not quite sure _why_ they’re smiling at Hermes, considering that Hermes is home, has _been_ home since the beginning of the month, and will continue to be home until after the New Year…

Still, the picture is… _cute_.

He takes another swig of wine, tossing the picture onto the counter. He has a bath to get to.

* * *

Charon’s blue eyes flit over to Hermes’ side of the bed, his thin mouth twisted down into a frown.

It’s not like he _can’t_ sleep without Hermes at his side. He spends most of the year by himself, after all. But, even if they’re occupying beds on opposite sides of the world, it’s not often that they head to bed well and truly angry with one another (though, to be fair, Charon isn’t _angry_ —he’s just confused). And he doesn’t know how to deal.

It’d taken him an hour and a half to finish all of his leftover paperwork. After that, he’d spent ten or so minutes contemplating the wording of a text message to Hermes, asking for confirmation that he and the kids had arrived at Thanatos’ apartment in one piece. Hermes hadn’t bothered to respond, but twenty minutes later, he’d received a strongly worded text from Thanatos telling him where he could shove it. Which… okay, _fair_. Perhaps there were ways in which he could’ve handled that better. But really…

He didn’t understand why Hermes was so enraptured with the whole holiday season. It was nothing more than a perpetual drain on his wallet, what with the boys wanting nothing but the newest, shiniest gadgets (Hermes insisted that that just made the boys spoiled—what six-year-old needed their own personal tablet?), Hermes wracking up speeding tickets (and, one particularly memorable Christmas, _wrapping Charon’s Ferrari around a tree_ ), and Eris needing bail money, _again_. And what is the thanks that he receives?

(Granted, Hermes doesn’t actually know that his sister is in jail, _again_. It wasn’t something that he was particularly proud of… though it was nice to know that Eris felt comfortable enough to keep tapping into the Bank of Charon every year around the 25th of December…)

Wait… What was that?

Frowning, Charon reaches underneath the bed for the titanium baseball bat they keep on hand. Neither Charon or Hermes had been comfortable with the idea of keeping guns on hand, especially with small children in the house. Pan and Evander already excelled at getting into each and every nook and cranny that they did not belong. Nobody wanted that sort of catastrophe… His fingers close around the cool metal, and drag the instrument out into the light. He couldn’t remember whether he’d armed the security system after Hermes had run off… If he hadn’t, and he were receiving an unexpected _visitor_ , he would be certain that they received a most _warm_ welcome. He twirls the bat between his fingers for a moment, tossing the blankets back—

There it is, again!

Climbing out of bed, he makes his way over to the door, quiet as a mouse. From the sound of it, the intruder is downstairs, moving about in the kitchen. Unfortunately, there’s no way for him to sneak up on them—the stairs will lead him down into the living room, which has a tremendous archway on the far wall that leads straight into the kitchen. Not to mention that at least three of the stairs creak. Charon considers his options as he makes his way down the hall. Should he dial 911? No, there wasn’t enough time. Besides, he thinks that he left his phone downstairs, after his lecture from Thanatos. And so, he slowly starts to slink downstairs, keeping close to the rail so that the intruder would not see him until the absolute last minute.

After a moment, he can see… a woman? No, not a woman, but a… teenager? Charon furrows his brows. He knows that he has never seen this girl before, and knows that she has no business being inside of his house at this hour. He lowers his bat, mouth twisting into a frown. He _really_ doesn’t have time for this.

The girl is eating the powdered donuts that Hermes had bought for the boys’ breakfast. “Oh, Charon!” She greets him as if he were an old friend, which only adds to Charon’s mounting irritation. “I wasn’t expecting you for… another hour, at least! Look at you, ahead of schedule.”

Charon drops the bat, [Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?]

“Oh, where _are_ my manners? My name is Macaria—nice to meet ya!” She holds out her hand, and Charon takes it, reluctantly. His hand phases right through her own, “Oh, yeah… Forgot about that…”

Okay, that… That didn’t just happen, right? He stares at his hand, where it’s frozen in mid-air. [Who… No, _what_ are you?] He’s not entirely sure he wants to know the answer to that.

“Why, me? I’m just the messenger.” This… _Macaria_ tells him. “You are ruled by your greed, Charon. If you continue down this path, you _will_ lose Hermes and the boys.”

[What do you know about anything?] This kid has a lot of nerve, to come into his house and tell him that his fiancé was going to leave him because he was being too greedy.

“Well… I know that your fiancé walked out on you earlier tonight because you decided that work was more important than your son’s first holiday concert. And, contrary to what you seem to believe, he has no plans to come back before Christmas. In fact, he’s already called his family to tell them there’s been a change of plans.”

[He… what?] Charon deflates a little at that. That was the last thing he’d been expecting to hear.

Sure, Hermes had walked out on him two days before Christmas, but… his fiancé was so obsessed with creating the perfect holiday for their family, Charon had been convinced that he wouldn’t let anything come in the way of his dream. He’d always wanted to host the holiday dinner, and he certainly couldn’t do that in the tiny, two bedroom apartment that Thanatos and Zagreus shared. Even with the extra bedroom, there was barely enough room for the two of them (he still didn’t understand how they thought that they would accommodate Hermes and the boys, as well). Besides, Hermes had already begun prepping for dinner, with several of the side dishes already prepared and tucked away inside of their refrigerator, ready to be reheated…

All of that hard work would be for naught if he decided not to come home.

And if he didn’t come home for Christmas… would he come home after that? Would Charon be able to see his boys? Things that he’d taken for granted just a few hours before suddenly seemed so… _monumental_. He needs to get to his phone, needs to _call Hermes_ and have the other man sort this out. His phone is right there, on the table… but as soon as he closes his fingers around the device, he remembers: he doesn’t know this girl. How does he know that he can trust anything that she says? For all he knows, Hermes is on his way back _right now_ —

Okay, maybe not _right_ now. But soon.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me. Like I said, I’m just the messenger. For some reason, the powers that be want to offer you a chance to make amends.” Macaria says, “So, you will be visited by three spirits. The first will arrive at six o’clock in the morning…” Her eyes flit to the clock on the wall, “Oh… you might want to head to bed.”

[I _was_ in bed, before you broke into my house to start spouting this nonsense. I don’t know who you’re trying to kid with all of this—] His irritation is mounting again. Macaria looks completely unaffected.

“Don’t worry, old man. You won’t see me anymore after this.” She takes another donut and pops it into her mouth, “Okay, I lied—after _this_.” Charon simply scowls at her.

[Get out!] He’s really not above calling 911. He’d be well within his rights—this _child_ is trespassing on his property.

“Head my words, Charon. At six o’clock in the morning, your first spector will come calling.” And then she just… disappears. Like she’d never actually been there at all.

Well, fuck… So much for sleeping tonight.


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Past

Charon stares at the digital clock on the bedside table, watching as the bright red numbers roll over to 6:00.

There’s a moment of nothingness, before the temperature in the room drops several degrees. Shivering, Charon wraps himself tighter in the blanket, turning to bury his face in the pillows. He can hear the door to the bedroom slowly creak open, and is disinclined to look to see what specter has decided to come haunt him now…

It’s not until a small hand curls around his shoulder that he turns to see exactly what it is that he’s dealing with. The face of one of his younger sisters stares down at him, though there is something about her that’s not quite right. Like her skin doesn’t quite sit correctly over her skull. She’s also floating about a half-inch off of the ground, though he doesn’t notice this until a moment later. She stares at him for a long while, seeming to look _through_ him. He shrinks away from her, trying (and failing) to shrug her hand off of his shoulder—

“Hello, Charon. I am the ghost of Christmas past. I have taken the form of your sister, Clotho, in an effort to make you feel more at ease…” He’s _definitely_ hallucinating. Maybe he really has been working too much.

[The ghost of Christmas…] This is too cliched to be true, [And what business do you have with me, ghost?]

“I have come to show you memories of your past. To perhaps help you to understand why you’ve come to hate a holiday that you once loved…” She holds out her hand, willing him to take it.

[I’m pretty sure that I know exactly why I hate the Christmas season. And making me relive my past isn’t going to change that. In fact, it might actually make me hate it more…] Nevertheless, he takes her hand, allowing her to pull him out of the bed. She is surprisingly strong, for a specter.

“All I ask is that you try. I can’t force you to find fulfillment in the experience, but, if need be, I _can_ force you to accompany me on the journey…” her eyes flash, “but I don’t think you want that.”

Charon takes a deep breath. Even if this _is_ a hallucination, perhaps it’s in his best interest to just play along for now. [Alright, specter. Do your worst.]

* * *

Charon blinks. Where are…?

“Hypnos, don’t—” a blur of red and white rushes past him, to collide with a beautifully decorated Christmas tree standing in the far corner of the room. His sock-clad foot breaks through one of the present boxes, causing whatever was inside to shatter. “Hypnos, you dolt! That was for big brother—!”

Hypnos shakes the box off of his foot, the broken pieces of his present rattling about inside of the cardboard. “I’m sure it’s not _that_ bad. Besides, if mom didn’t want his present getting broken, she shouldn’t have—”

“Put it on the floor?” Thanatos raises an eyebrow, “Did you ever think that maybe—just _maybe_ —you shouldn’t be running around the house at three o’clock in the morning?” He asks.

“Hmm… no, I never considered that.” Hypnos pouts. “C’mon, Than—it’s Christmas! You can’t tell me that you’re not at least a _little_ excited to see Santa!” He says.

“You’re about to get us _both_ put on the naughty list.” Thanatos huffs. He crosses his little arms over his chest, his face pinched in a scowl. “Besides, mom was so excited to have found that—it was _all_ Charon wanted for Christmas and _you broke it_.” His little voice is dripping with disapproval.

Ah, _now_ he remembers. This is Christmas Eve, 1998. The twins, then four-years-old (almost five), had been plotting for weeks to catch Santa when he came down the chimney to deliver their presents. Well, Hypnos had been plotting, and Thanatos had been roped into it in an effort to keep Hypnos out of trouble. Within seconds of coming downstairs, Hypnos had tripped and broken Charon’s only present. Nyx had tried repairing it, but there was nothing to be done. It couldn’t even be returned, considering its current condition…

Charon had spent the last six months attending a private, out-of-state school, courtesy of their grandparent, Chaos. He’d missed his family, but he’d also learned a lot—and he’d come to love the lavish lifestyle that Chaos led. While their home definitely had a minimalistic vibe to it, the furniture alone cost more money than Charon had seen in his short life. The home didn’t even looked _lived_ in. And while he was there, he saw the most beautiful Swarovski crystal statues, and had desperately wanted one of his own.

But Swarovski crystals were expensive, especially for a gift for a fifteen-year-old for Christmas. But seeing as Charon hadn’t asked for _anything_ else, Nyx had decided to indulge him. It’d taken her multiple commissions, but she’d finally been able to purchase him a Swarovski crystal stallion. A stallion that Hypnos, in his eagerness, had crushed underneath his little feet. He’d been angry, of course, but then… He turns, watching as a younger version of himself comes rushing down the stairs, his hair sticking up every which way and his pajama shirt misbuttoned. He remembers hearing the box _crack_ and the crystal _shatter_ , and, worried that there’d been a break-in, had come rushing downstairs, bat in hand—

Now that he thinks about it… he’s always kept a bat close at hand, just in case.

His past self considers the mess that Hypnos had made, as the boys stare at him, their eyes wide like deer caught in the headlights. [What the hell happened down here?]

“W-We, um…” Hypnos starts wringing his little hands. Thanatos gives him a look, as if to say ‘I had no part in any of this’. “ _I_ may’ve broken your Christmas present. I’m _really_ sorry, Charon—I didn’t mean to!” Hypnos stares up at him, tears brewing in his dark eyes. “I-I just got overexcited when I saw all the presents and—”

“Maybe we can still fix it?” Thanatos suggests. The sound of crystal shards rattling about in the box suggests otherwise, but… “It’s already got a big, foot-shaped hole in it. I doubt mom would mind if we opened it early.” He pulls the box out, holding it out to Charon.

[Don’t bother. Even if it can’t be fixed… I’m just glad that the two of you are alright.] Hypnos sniffles dramatically, wiping his little nose on his sleeve. Charon ruffles his ash-blonde curls.

“I… I’m sorry.” He says again. Tears are brewing in the corners of his eyes, “W-Wait, I know what we can do! Thanatos and I were sad that we could only get you one Christmas present this year, so we made you something. Maybe you can open it early?”

Hypnos shoves a small envelope into Charon’s unprepared hands. Looking between them, and seeing their warbling smiles and teary eyes, Charon nods and tears the envelope open. Inside, is a hand-painted picture of both of the boys cuddling up with Charon on what he _thinks_ is the couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons. Neither of the boys are particularly talented artists, but he loves the picture all the same. Below the picture are the words ‘Welcome Home’ and ‘Merry Christmas!’, all of which are misspelled.

[I love it.] He signs. Hypnos’ entire body seems to relax, and they both launch themselves into Charon’s arms.

[I still have that picture. It’s in my desk drawer, at work.] He reflects. The pale-faced specter nods, as if she had already known as much. [Why did you bring me here, specter?]

Clotho cocks her head to the side, “Because you used to love Christmas. When you were young, there was nothing greater than the chance to spend time with your loved ones. Now come… there’s more for you to see.”

* * *

Was this…?

He’s in his childhood bedroom. He’d had his own room, by virtue of being almost ten years older than his siblings, which was extraordinarily convenient at times like these… Hermes is sprawled out over his bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and remarkably little else. Charon is half-tempted to throw a hand over Clotho’s eyes. Even if the specter is only taking the form of his younger sister to make him feel more comfortable, his little sister does not need to know what his fiancé looks like half-naked.

Hermes had practically been living with them for the last several days. He hadn’t told Nyx, though he suspected that she knew. Hypnos had once secretly kept a kitten in his and Thanatos’ shared room—he’d been asking for a pet for _months_ , and had decided that the best course of action would be to take one in without their mother’s knowledge to prove to her that he could take care of it without her help. It had worked out about as well as anyone would expect a plan of that caliber to… He still felt kind of bad for the kid, all these years later.

“I, um… I bought you a little something. I know that you said not to spend any money on you this year, because I lost that paper route job, but I saw this and I thought of you and I—” Charon presses a finger to his mouth, effectively silencing him.

[I’m sure that I’ll love it, whatever it is.] Hermes is practically bubbling over with excitement as he bends over to dig through his messenger bag—returning a second later with a black velvet ring box.

“Now, I know how this looks. It’s not an engagement ring, I promise! We’re both much too young for that.” And Charon knows how skittish Hermes gets at the idea of marriage. His parents’ disaster of a relationship has _definitely_ jaded him. “It’s more of a… well, just open it and see!”

Charon doesn’t need to see inside of the box to know what is inside. It’s a promise ring. A beautiful, 14 karat gold promise ring, bearing an ornate symbol that he hadn’t recognized at the time. Later, he would discover that it was the symbol carved on golden obols—the coins that’d been placed on the eyes of the recently departed, to pay their fee so that the ferryman Charon would usher them into the underworld. The ring must’ve cost Hermes a fortune (more than he could make working a paper route, at any rate), though Hermes wouldn’t hear any complaint about him ‘wasting’ his money on him. And so he’d worn the ring, happily, until Hermes had finally come around to the idea of marrying him. And even then, he’d kept the ring safe in a jewelry box in their bedroom.

[It’s beautiful.] Charon smiles, examining the way that the light glanced off of the metal. [And, since we’re exchanging gifts early…] He reaches under the bed to retrieve a handsomely wrapped box.

“Oh, Charon—you didn’t have to get me anything!” He still happily accepts the box, and tears the colorful paper to shreds. His eyes widen when he sees the brand name on the side of the box, “Charon, you didn’t…”

[You said that you wanted to try and run professionally, right? Then you’ll need proper shoes. I did a lot of research, and these are the best on the market. Fashionable _and_ comfortable.] Charon remembers how proud he’d been when he’d found those shoes. He’d known, instantly, that Hermes would _love_ them.

“These… These are _perfect_ , love! Thank you so much!” Hermes hugged the box to his chest, squeezing it tight enough to crinkle the cardboard. “What’d I ever do to deserve such a thoughtful boyfriend?”

[Just by being your sweet, thoughtful self.] Hermes squeals, rolling himself over onto Charon’s lap.

Carefully sliding the promise ring onto Charon’s ring finger, Hermes continues, “Let me show you _just_ how _thankful_ I am…” He licks his lips, bending forward just enough to—

Now, Charon really _does_ place a hand over Clotho’s eyes, as he turns her around so that she cannot observe what happens next. Then, [That’s enough of that. I get the idea.]

“Do you, though?” Clotho raises an eyebrow.

Hermes hadn’t cared that he’d spent a considerable amount of money on his present. He’d cared that Charon had bought him something _special_ , the product of having _listened_ when Hermes told him about his hopes and dreams. Hermes’ family wasn’t supportive of his goals (in fact, he doubted that Hermes’ father had even known that he wanted to compete in the Olympics until Hermes had come home with a gold medal), so it meant a lot to him to know that his boyfriend _was_. No-one in his family would take the time to conduct the research necessary to make a purchase like that. And while it was true that Charon’s gifts had become slightly less… _thoughtful_ over the years, and that they certainly didn’t evoke _that_ kind of response out of Hermes anymore…

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Where was he going with this, again?

[So I haven’t been listening to Hermes as well as I should. He’s hardly ever home—back then, he was practically _living_ with us. Now, I’m lucky if I can spend thirty minutes with him on the phone every night.]

Clotho frowns, “Have you considered talking to him about how you feel?” She asks.

Charon looks at her like she’d grown a second head, [Why would I do that? I don’t want him to think that I’m not supportive of his dreams. Travel is part of his job, and I accepted that when we became serious. There’s no point in voicing my concerns about it now.]

She rolls her eyes, “Have you ever heard about proper communication with your fiancé? Communication is an integral part of any relationship—”

[You’ve never even had a serious relationship.] He points out.

“I’m not _actually_ your sister.” She rolls her eyes, “And, to be honest, I’m beginning to wonder how your real sister has dealt with you for twenty years.”

Charon’s eye twitches, [I thought you were here to show me what a horrible fiancé and father I am?]

She sighs, “We have one more stop.”

* * *

They’re back in his childhood house again. And Hermes is sobbing.

He cannot remember what’s happening here, not at first. Then, he sees the envelope in Hermes’ trembling hands, and he realizes that this is the year where Hermes told him that he was leaving to go train overseas. His father wouldn’t spare the cash to fund the trip, however, and after draining his entire life savings, he was just a little bit short… Charon didn’t have enough money to cover the difference, not with every ounce of his money going to help Nyx while she recovered from her last pregnancy. But there _was_ something that he _could_ do. He’d pawned the ring that Hermes had bought him two years ago—since the price of gold was up, it’d gone for _quite_ the pretty penny. Enough to cover the cost of traveling, and more.

“A-Are you… breaking up with me?” Hermes had looked absolutely distraught. Perhaps, he should’ve come up with a more believable lie when asked how he’d come up with the extra money.

[Of course not. I just… This was the only way that I could think to help you. The man down at the pawnshop said that he would hold onto the ring for me. In a couple of weeks, I’ll be able to buy it back, and then I’ll never take it off again. Believe me, this is the last thing that I wanted to do…]

“Then, why did you do it?” He asks.

[Because I wanted to help you, and this was the only way that I could think to do that.] He’s confused. He didn’t expect Hermes to be thrilled by the idea, but he hadn’t expected such a _strong_ reaction.

“Charon…” Hermes breathes, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palm, “You help me just by being _me_. The fact that you’d even think to do this… it’s simultaneously the nicest, and stupidest, thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

[I just… want you to be as happy as you can while you’re over there.] He tells him.

Hermes shakes his head, “I’ll be comfortable, true, but I won’t be _happy_. Not without you.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath, “Are you sure that you won’t reconsider going to school overseas? I’m sure that you would have no trouble getting into any school you choose…”

Even distraught, Hermes is still sweet as can be. He cuddles up to Charon’s chest, allowing Charon to run his long, thin fingers through the thick, dark mop of curls atop his head. He’s definitely going to miss this—and, much as the thought of attending school overseas might appeal to him, he cannot leave Nyx and the others. Nyx had just had triplets, and they’re certainly a handful—they’re certainly much more energetic than any of the others had been, and that’s including Eris. Hermes is lucky that almost all of his siblings are within months of each other age-wise, even if that causes other—at times, much more serious—problems. The girts are all close together, at least, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing… especially considering Eris’ temperament.

“You loved him so much, you were willing to give up your most prized possession to see him happy.” Clotho says, “And now… now, you’re willing to let him spend the holidays at your brother’s apartment, just so you can squeeze in a few more hours at work.”

[To help _him_. I work hard so that I can give him—and our boys—the life that they deserve. To make them _happy_. Why can no-one understand that?] His hands are _shaking_ , he’s so angry.

“Did he _look_ happy when he stormed out of the house last night?” She asks, one eyebrow raised.

[Well… no.] But that’s just _one_ night. Hermes is usually happy… isn’t he?

Clotho heaves a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You really just don’t get it, do you?”

* * *

He wakes up in bed, exhausted and alone, staring at the doorway where Clotho had once stood…

No, he supposes that he doesn’t understand it at all.


	5. The Ghost of Christmas Present

He is already expecting the ghost of Christmas present to take the form of one of his younger sisters, so when Lachesis appears next, he is prepared. She has the same sickly pale countenance as the first specter, and is dressed in the same off-white garb—though this time, with the addition of a soft, white linen cloth draped over her eyes. Despite her inability to see, she stares directly at Charon as she floats over to the side of the bed, not ten minutes after the first ghost had departed.

“I am the ghost of Christmas present.” Her voice is deeper than he expects, “I have taken the form of your sister, Lachesis, named for the Greek goddess of Fate who controlled the same.”

[And you have come to show me visions of what will come, tomorrow evening?] He can’t imagine that he’ll be seeing anything _too_ bad. Knowing Hermes, he’ll spend the holiday with Nyx and the others, and tell his family to bugger off. He doesn’t like dealing with them when he doesn’t have a buffer—

“Indeed. I have come to show you the immediate effect of your miserly ways.” She says. “And perhaps, to help you to understand the unseen consequences of your actions.”

[The unseen consequences…] Now, the specter is talking in circles again. Why must they make this difficult?

“Come… there is much to see, and little time remaining in the day.” She takes his hand, yanking him back off of the bed.

[Little time…] He catches a glimpse of the numbers on the clock on the bedside table—how is it two o’clock in the afternoon already? He’s missing work!

And then everything fades to black…

* * *

“I _told_ you that you were being too ambitious.” Demeter’s voice is like ice as she scowls at Hermes from across the table, “Perhaps, if you were around for more than a handful of weeks a year, your relationship would not be in shambles and your boys would be having a _proper_ Christmas.”

Hermes offers his aunt a thin smile, “Yes, auntie. Of course. Whatever was I thinking, going and pursuing my dreams.” He takes a _long_ sip of wine, before muttering, “God, when will this nightmare end…”

It’s Christmas Day—not that you would ever be able to tell, between the morbid atmosphere and the utter lack of decoration. The table is littered with containers overflowing with Chinese takeout (he thinks he overhears one of Hermes many relatives mentioning that Hera couldn’t be bothered to prepare a proper Christmas feast on such short notice—or make an actual appearance for the festivities—so the kids had all pooled their cash to order out). There’s a tree over by the fireplace, adorned with such ornate, and expensive-looking, decorations Charon is afraid to breathe in it’s direction, lest something break. It’s not lit. Otherwise, the house is as it always is: utterly devoid of warmth, and ever so slightly musty. Charon hates it already.

“Zagreus!” Zeus’ voice _booms_ in the silence, beckoning his nephew near. “I hear that you’ve become quite chummy with my Ares, as of late. Were that you were my son instead of he!” He chuckles, all too amused by his own joke. If he sees the way that Ares’ face falls, he ignores it.

“Oh, I…” Zagreus’ mismatched eyes nervously flit back and forth. It’s clear that he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. “Ares has been a wonderful friend. He’s really helped Thanatos and I out in the wake of the—”

But it’s clear that Zeus isn’t actually listening, “Oh, I jest, I jest. I suppose that Ares isn’t a _complete_ failure.” He takes another swig of wine, “At least he’s fair of face. That’ll help to compensate for his… _lackluster_ personality.”

Ares’ eye twitches, “Father, I—”

“Oh, get down off of your soapbox, Ares. Hermes, he’s an Olympic gold medalist. Apollo went to medical school, and Artemis is on her… her what? Second degree?” He looks around the room, stumbling a bit as the alcohol catches up to him. Zagreus stumbles forward in an effort to keep him from face-planting.

“I’m getting my Ph.D.” Artemis supplies. Charon hadn’t even noticed her there, on the couch, reading another of her books. How long had she been there, blending in with the upholstery?

Zeus spits out something that sounds vaguely like Ph.D. “Dionysus owns his own small business. Hephaestus owns a _chain_ of home improvement stores. Athena works at the correctional facility… And what do you do? You work security at a _nursing home_ , because nobody else would take your worthless ass.”

The room has grown eerily silent. Zagreus offers a meek, “Perhaps… you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Uncle Zeus?” He tries to take the wine glass from Zeus’ hand, but the old man holds firm.

“ _This one_ might not come from money,” Thanatos raises a brow as one of Zeus’ thick fingers is jabbed in his direction, “but even _he_ makes more money than you. So, don’t come whining to me about—about—”

There’s a resounding _smack_ as Ares’ open palm collides with Zeus’ cheek. There’s no denying that Zeus is quite a bit bigger than Ares, but Ares has righteous indignation coursing through his veins (and Charon is almost certain that the only thing pumping through _Zeus’_ veins in that moment is alcohol). Zeus collapses in a drunken heap, shattering the glass coffee table on the way down. It is immediately apparent that he is unhurt (and far too drunk to care about the embarrassment that he should be feeling). But Ares… Ares is _painfully_ sober.

He storms out of the room, while the rest of the family contemplates picking their jaws up off of the floor. No-one dares to follow him, not until Hermes seems to grow tired of Demeter’s constant pestering and—after slamming his wine glass down on the table hard enough to send a snowflake-like crack shooting up from the stem—storms off. Charon turns to Lachesis, who inclines her head toward the door. Together, they follow the two outside to the front steps, where Ares is aggressively smoking a cigarette and attempting to pretend like he’s not crying. Hermes stands a couple of paces off, watching, considering, before he moves to take a seat at Ares’ side. Ares offers him a curt nod, his rust-colored eyes narrowed at something in the distance.

“Think I could bum one of those?” Hermes asks, motioning to the half-crushed pack of menthols laying on the concrete just to the left of where Ares is sitting.

Ares shrugs, “Should you really be smoking? I don’t want to be the reason that your career went to shit—I’m already responsible for ruining enough.” He scrubs at his eyes with the heel of his palm, before shaking out a cigarette for Hermes. Despite his bravado, he was never _not_ going to say ‘yes’.

“Well, my life is already going to hell. Why not hasten the inevitable, y’know?” He lights up, “I’m sorry that dad was such a douche to you back there. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

He rolls his eyes, “It’s not like he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Hermes offers him a sad smile, “Well… dad may think that he got the short end of the stick, landing you for a son, but… I think that I got pretty lucky, having you for a big brother.” He bumps shoulders with Ares, before continuing, “If it makes you feel better, Demeter was climbing up my ass, too.”

Ares frowns, “What could that old crone have to bitch about?”

Hermes blows a perfect smoke ring, “What a horrible husband and father I am…”

He tells Ares about how he’d decided to let Pan and Evander spend Christmas with Charon’s side of the family, as he hadn’t wanted to subject them to hours of listening to Hermes’ father and aunt verbally eviscerated him whilst they gorged themselves on Christmas cookies and wine. It’d been a difficult decision to make, but… it was for the best. Some of his best memories from childhood involved spending the holidays at Nyx’s house. And he knew that the kids would love it, even if he didn’t feel comfortable accompanying them any longer.

Apparently, Demeter had spent the entire night tearing into him about the fact that he was considering giving Charon back his ring. In her ‘humble’ opinion, Hermes never should’ve waited so long to marry in the first place. If he’d been so certain about spending the rest of his life with Charon, he should’ve sunk his hooks into him the moment he’d thrown him a line and never let go. Instead, he’d chosen to pursue a job that would keep him away from his family for the majority of the year… and due to the time difference, he was limited in when and how long he could talk to them when he _could_ take the time to check in. If he had just settled down and become a journalist, or a postal worker, or… well, _anything_ else, then none of this would’ve happened.

Of course, this was all according to Demeter, so the advice ought to be taken with a grain of salt.

“I guess… I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just started to wonder if…” Hermes flicks the ashes off of his cigarette, his expression pinched, “If maybe all of this is my fault, y’know? Maybe it could’ve been avoided if I’d…”

“Without you there to help field his family’s barbs, Hermes will spend the remainder of Christmas on the porch, staring into oblivion, contemplating what-ifs. He will not return to the house until long after everyone else had already retired. It is then that he will find the present he bought you, which he brought along just in case you decided to come.”

Charon almost doesn’t want to know, [Please, specter… tell me that I show up. Even if it’s late. I couldn’t… I couldn’t have left him to deal with all of _this_ on his own, could I?]

Lachesis considers him for a moment, before shaking her head. “You do not show. He will use the present to stoke the flames of the fire.” She inclines her head, just as Hermes throws a beautifully colored box into his family’s fireplace. “He will take off his ring, and stare at it, in silent contemplation, until he falls asleep.”

[Why are you showing me this? Why do you wish to torment me so?] He asks.

“Torment?” The specter raises a brow, “If you felt even a fraction of what your fiancé feels now, you would not even begin to understand the true meaning of torment.” She growls.

[Is there not a more pleasant scene you might show me, then?] He knows that he has no right to ask, not after what he has just scene, but… Surely, his children must be enjoying their Christmas, right?

Lachesis sighs, “Come, then.”

* * *

“Aunties!” Pan lets out a delighted cheer as he finds Meg, Alecto, and Tisiphone standing in Nyx’s living room, the sisters bickering over whether Tisiphone had cheated in the last round of charades.

“Well, hey there, little man!” Meg sets her mug of hot chocolate aside seconds before she is tackled by an overexcited seven-year-old, hyped on sugar. She hefts him up into the air with the greatest of ease; the little boy squeals as he frantically waves his arms and legs back and forth.

“Look, would you just let me say that I’m sorry? He had no right to bring your family’s monetary affairs into… whatever point he was trying to make about Ares.” Zagreus huffs, popping out of the kitchen with a fresh plate of Christmas cookies. “Zeus is an asshole.”

Thanatos hums, popping a still-warm cookie off of the plate and popping it into his mouth, “That’s the understatement of the century.” And then, “Zagreus, really, you don’t need to apologize—”

“But I _want_ to.” Zagreus replies, emphatically.

“It’s not like your apology changes what was said.” He says, “Besides, I know that… _most_ of your family doesn’t feel that way about me.” He doesn’t seem to be too bothered by it, either way.

“I have _presents_!” Nyx trills, making her way into the living room with a sack _overflowing_ with gifts.

See, this is the kind of Christmas that Charon remembers having as a child. They never had much money, true, but Nyx always found a way to give her children everything that they asked for and more. That bag is positively filled to the brim (and, if he knows his mother, has some brand-new presents bought just the night before for two distraught little boys that don’t understand what’s happening—or why they’re spending Christmas without either of their parents). Speaking of which, he _has_ been wondering: where is _he_ in all of this? Surely, he’s not still working. He’d planned everything out so that he’d have the smallest amount of work possible on Christmas Eve, so that he’d be able to head to get home in time to assemble the boys’ toys.

What? Santa didn’t bring toys in _boxes_. He brought fully assembled masterpieces that required a lot of alcohol and hot glue to put together. He and Hermes had a tradition of putting the kids to bed early on Christmas Eve (there would be no waiting up for Santa, and accidentally breaking one of the presents… he’d learned his lesson with Hypnos) and reading them _The Night Before Christmas_ , before heading downstairs and making everything presentable for Christmas morning. It was as fun as it was exhausting.

But… it seemed like he’d be missing that this year.

[Specter… where am I, in all of this?] He finally musters the courage to ask her.

For a moment, he doesn’t think that she’s going to respond. Then, “You fire two employees on Christmas Eve for demanding to leave early, despite your blunt refusal. Without their assistance, you’re unable to meet your quota, and you end up having to put in extra time on Christmas Day.”

[But I… I would never miss Christmas…] He can scarcely believe it. This, _none_ of this, sounds like him.

“Just like you would _never_ miss your son’s holiday concert?” The ghost counters, her tone dripping with vitriol. “There will always be another Christmas, won’t there, Charon? So what’s the point in getting so up in arms about missing just the one?” He flinches. He hadn’t realized just how cruel that’d sounded.

“And this one is for you, Evander. Go ahead, open it!” Nyx hands the little boy a small box. He takes it from her, lacking the excitement one would expect a child to have on such an occasion.

He tears into the paper to find a… Mort stuffie? Except, that isn’t any old Mort—that’s Thanatos’ Mort, from when he was a little kid. He recognizes it from the patchwork material across it’s little face. That toy has seen some shit (he’ll never forget the time that Hypnos threw it straight into Cerberus’ mouth—he didn’t think that it was possible for a child’s face to turn that shade of red). It’s based off of a cartoon character in a show that re-runs on Saturday mornings. He knows that Evander has seen a couple of episodes, at least, because he’s watched them with him (well… he’s worked on his business reports while Evander put his little feet in his lap and stared listlessly at the television, which was pretty much the same thing, right?

He’s… beginning to think that it might not be the same thing.)

Evander turns the little toy over and over in his hands. He seems far from pleased with the present. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Don’t you like it?” Nyx asks. “I know that he’s a little beat up, but that just means he was well loved. And you know what? That makes him extra powerful against the bad dreams.”

“No, it’s not the present. Mort is awesome!” Evander forces a little smile, before his shoulders slump, “I just… All I really want for Christmas is for Daddy and Papa to stop fighting.”

Pan sniffles, “It’s _my_ fault that they’re fighting. If it weren’t for that stupid holiday concert, Daddy would’ve never gotten mad and…” His whole body shudders with a sob. “I’m never playing the flute again!”

Hypnos frowns, “Aww, now that’s a _real_ shame—‘cause I thought that you were really, really good. So good, in fact, that I almost managed to stay awake through that whole part of the concert. And that… that takes _a lot_ , on a Tuesday night, lemme tell you.” Charon thinks that his brother might be just a little drunk.

“It really was a lovely concert.” Thanatos agrees, “It would be a shame to quit now, after you put all of that hard work in. But… do you know what might be fun?”

He puffs his little cheeks out, “What?”

“Grandma and your other aunties didn’t get the chance to hear your concert. And, right now, you have a captive audience. So, if you’d like, maybe we could all sing some Christmas carols while you accompany us on the flute?” It must be _really_ bad if Thanatos is volunteering to _sing_.

He and Evander seem to consider this for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah… okay.”

The accompaniment is every bit as painful as Charon expected it to be, and yet… everyone inside of the house seems to be having the time of their lives. It might be the alcohol speaking but… it looks like they’re actually having fun. And whatever it is that they’re feeling must be contagious, because soon enough, the boys are smiling and dancing as they tear into the rest of their presents. And Charon, well… he finds himself wishing that he were there, sipping the wine, opening the presents, partaking in the merriment…

Instead, he’s trapped in some kind of limbo, with a specter who is wearing his younger sister’s face. He is forced to see, first-hand, the damage that his actions have caused, but is unable to do anything to remedy them. Tears start to streak down his face as he realizes what he’d been so willing to give up—

[Please, just… take me home, specter. I can’t bear to see anymore…] He is hard-pressed to tell which scene was worse, but both of them leave him feeling faintly sick to his stomach with distress.

A moment of silence, then, “As you wish.”

* * *

When he comes to, he is bent double over the toilet, dry-heaving into the porcelain. He is tired, and the room around him is spinning… he doesn’t know how he is supposed to weather a visit from the third and final specter. Because, if this experience had taught him nothing else… he knows that it will only get worse from here.


	6. The Ghost of Christmas Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a little late T.T -- I had to rewrite it a couple times until I really liked how the future looked. But there will be another update later tonight to get us back on schedule <3

Charon is terrified.

He knows the story of _A Christmas Carol_. He knows what comes next. He may not be as old as the actual Ebenezer Scrooge, but any number of things could happen to bring about his untimely end. And the idea of Hermes and the boys continuing on without him, as if he’d never even existed—or, worse, as if their lives were so much better without him in it—made him feel ill. But he’s already in this deep. Much as he might want to, there is no avoiding the ghost of Christmas future. All there is to do now is wait.

Rising from the floor, he shuffles over to the bathroom sink and turns the faucet on as cold as it will come. He rinses out his mouth with water, then again with mouthwash… The taste of bile lingers, but it is a little bit better. Once he’s confident that he has his bearings, he flushes the toilet and opens the door to reveal… Oh my. There is a dark, shadowy figure lingering by the bed, hovering an inch or so above the floor. Where the other specters had been dressed in white, this one is dressed in black, with a thick, dark mist emanating from underneath their billowing robes. Their hood is pulled up over their head, obscuring their entire face in shadow. Their only identifiable feature is their long, ash-blonde hair, which spills out over their shoulders…

He starts to step backward, half-convinced that, if he were to walk back into the bathroom and shut the door, the specter would disappear. But he knows that that is not the case. And so, he does the next best thing. Perhaps, if he expresses a willingness to go with the specter, it will hasten the inevitable. Before he can say as much, the specter reaches out and curls their bony fingers around his wrist, dragging him closer. He stumbles a bit—the specter is surprisingly strong for their size—as he approaches, and ends up with a nose full of incense. The specter heaves a sigh, and purple smoke pours out of what Charon believes is their mouth and nose… If there weren’t a small part of him still holding out for all of this to be a bad dream, he surely would’ve passed out from fright by now.

This is… _different_ than the other encounters. They’d all introduced themselves, told him what he was going to see… He wouldn’t say that they’d been _friendly_ , but he certainly hadn’t felt as though his life were in danger until now. He tries to yank his wrist out of the specter’s grip, only for their grip to grow impossibly tighter—

And then everything goes black.

* * *

Charon isn’t certain how he knows that they’re still inside his house, since he cannot see more than an inch or so in front of his face. The bedroom is shrouded in darkness—oddly enough, it seems that the only light in the room is coming from the dark, purple smoke oozing from what he believes to be the specter’s face. But there is no denying that this _is_ his bedroom, _their_ bedroom, with the boys’ room down the hall, and next to it, his office. In the quiet, he can hear voices. He thinks that he recognizes Pan’s voice, but there’s something… _off_ about it.

The specter’s hold on his wrist doesn’t loosen as they lead him through the darkness toward the hall. He’s lived in this house for almost ten years now, he should _know_ his way around it, even in absolute darkness… But he relies on the specter to lead him around the various obstacles lying about (even if they’re not really _here_ , even if he can phase through the obstacles lying in their way, even if the people they’re visiting cannot see if he falls, anyway), and follows them down the hall and into the boy’s room. The voices grow louder as they approach—

“…Dad _said_ that he would call, Ev. You just have to be patient.” Pan and Evander are sitting on what he thinks is Pan’s bed, staring at the lock screen on Pan’s cellphone. It’s a picture of the boys with Hermes.

“We have to be quiet. We don’t want Pops to find out that we’re still awake.” Evander whispers. His eyes flicker nervously to the wall that they share with Charon’s office, “You know that he doesn’t like it when we disturb his work.”

“Oh, his work can shove it.” Pan rolls his eyes. “He’s the reason that we have to wait until two o’clock in the morning to talk to Dad.” He huffs, “Maybe, if he hadn’t of been such a terrific _ass_ , Dad wouldn’t have left and we could still _pretend_ like we were a family.”

Evander is silent for a long moment, before sighing, “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t just live with Grandpa Zeus and Granny Hera. I know that Dad said it would be worse, but… I can’t see anything being worse than _this_.”

[They’re… _afraid_ of me.] Charon considers this for a moment, before deciding that that doesn’t fit quite right. [No, this isn’t fear. This is _hatred_. Specter, how far into the future have you brought me?]

The specter doesn’t speak. Instead, they point to the far side of the room, where a ‘World’s Cutest Pets’ calendar hangs on the wall over the boys’ shared bedside table. They release his wrist, allowing him to walk across the room unattended. He spares one last glance backward before stumbling across the room—he expects the floor to be littered with toys, clean and dirty clothes, books… he finds that the room is cleaner than it has ever been. Even the boys’ beds are immaculately made… What the hell had happened, here?

The calendar on the wall displays the date as December 24, 2026. It… Has it really been six years since Hermes had taken the boys and walked out on him? That would explain why the boys look so much older, why there aren’t toys scattered all over the floor… And, if he’s understanding the situation correctly, in those six years, Hermes had left him _properly_ , had lost custody of the kids, and had continued pursuing his dreams overseas… while Charon had become more and more reclusive, locking himself away in his study until all hours of the night…

“Here he is!” Pan exclaims. The boys cuddled closer as Pan answers the call, and both boys chime, “Merry Christmas, Daddy!” This is the liveliest they’ve sounded since the specter brought him here…

 _“Merry Christmas, boys_.” Hermes chuckles. It feels like it’s been an eternity since he’d last heard him laugh like that.

“We’ve missed you, Daddy.” Evander chimes in. “Did you get the present that we sent you? We tried really hard to make sure that it would get there by Christmas, but there’s no accounting for customs.” Evander is bouncing up and down on Pan’s bed, his eyes bright with excitement.

 _“I got it, yes. It’s absolutely lovely.”_ Hermes tells them, _“I have presents for the two of you, as well. I’m afraid that they won’t be getting there until after Christmas, though.”_ He sounds rather regretful.

“That’s okay, Dad. Maybe we could FaceTime when the presents come in, so we can open them together?”

“Yeah!” Evander seems thrilled by the idea, “Can we, Daddy? Please?”

Hermes hums, _“I think that that sounds like a wonderful idea. You’ll have to call me tomorrow and let me know what your Papa got you for Christmas, okay?”_ The boys look at each other uncertainly, and Hermes continues, _“Now, boys… I know that things are hard, but he is trying.”_

“Yeah, trying to work himself into an early grave.” Pan grouses, as he rolls his eyes.

 _“He really does love the two of you, you know_.” He tries.

“Maybe…” Pan allows, “But he’ll always love his work more.”

Charon’s heart shatters, to know that this is what his boys think of him. He doesn’t devote so much time to his work because he loves it more than them… He devotes so much time to his work because he wants to give them all of the things that he lacked growing up. His mother devoted hours and hours to her paintings to be able to provide for her ever-growing family, and he never thought that she loved her art more than him. But then… she’d never missed any of their school events, either. Even if it meant sitting through hours of ear-splitting music.

Even if it was painful, even if it meant that she would be sitting up until all hours of the morning to finish her commissions on time… Nyx was always there for her family. Maybe, he needed to learn how to take a page out of her book, if he aspired to be even _half_ of the parent that she was.

He reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind Pan’s ear. His hand phases right through the older boy’s head.

[Is this… all I have to look forward to? A failed relationship, children who hate me…] He reflects.

That bony hand circles around his wrist, just a hair too tight, and the room dissolves into inky darkness once more…

* * *

“Am I ever going to be able to convince you to settle down, Hermes?” Charon didn’t recognize the man lying in bed alongside his fiancé (or… former fiancé, he supposes). Is this… Hermes new boyfriend?

“Ah, well… I’ve tried that whole song and dance, you see. Met a man I loved to pieces, started a family… It didn’t end well. I tried, for a while, to settle down… get a proper job, one that my father would approve of, buy a house, establish roots… It was my boys that finally talked some sense into me. They told me that all of this… it wasn’t like me.”

His partner frowns, “I wish that you wouldn’t just assume that I’m going to hurt you like he did.”

Hermes tosses back the blanket, stumbling off of the bed, “I’m not assuming anything. You seem to forget that, before _this_ , I’d only ever had one serious relationship. Charon was supposed to be it for me.”

“And I’m not Charon.” The man sounds rather disgusted by this revelation.

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Hermes reflects, “I’m here with you now, aren’t I? You’ve been trying to convince me to leave him for years—”

“I have to say, I expected things to be _different_ once you finally did.” He says.

Hermes huffs, “I’m here with you now—shouldn’t that be enough?”

Charon blinks—he recognizes this man, now. The man lying naked in Hermes’ bed is Odysseus, Hermes’ agent. They’d been working together for years, and Hermes had never once mentioned to Charon the fact that Odysseus had been attempting to undermine their relationship. Perhaps this had been his intent all along—to have someone waiting for him when their relationship inevitably fell to pieces. But he pushes the thought away almost as soon as it comes. Hermes had tried, desperately, to make their relationship work—even when he was overseas.

If it had failed as spectacularly as he suspected it had, then he had no-one to blame but himself.

Still, he didn’t like the thought of Odysseus trying to convince Hermes to leave him, over and over. He didn’t like the fact that Hermes had taken him up on the offer, once their relationship _had_ fallen apart. But most of all, he didn’t like the fact that Hermes was still so caught up on him—on all the damage that he’d done to his heart—that he couldn’t move on and find happiness with someone else. Hermes might be it for Charon, but it doesn’t necessarily need to work the other way around. In fact, it _shouldn’t_ work the other way around.

Hermes deserved happiness, even if he couldn’t find that happiness with Charon. Hermes deserved _everything_. And Charon had thought, if he earned enough money, then he would be able to give Hermes the life that he deserved. That he would be able to _buy_ that happiness.

But now…

“You know, I had this whole thing planned out. A real romantic Christmas proposal. I even had Circe help me to design the ring.” Odysseus sounds incredibly put-out. “It never once occurred to me that you’d say no.”

Hermes shifts, the light catching on the ring on his finger. It’s the purple diamond that Charon had given him, so many Christmas’ ago. “It didn’t? Really? Because I seem to recall that the only time we had a _serious_ conversation about marriage, I told you that I wasn’t interested.”

“Because you’re still hanging onto the idea of what was, and what could have been.” He whines.

“I had the perfect tux, too. Custom made.” Hermes smiles, a little wistful. “It’s sitting in the closet, collecting dust. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of that. I suppose that you’ll bitch at me for that, too.”

“I’m just saying that you ought to try seeing where I’m coming from—” He says.

“And I’m saying that _you_ ought to see where _I’m_ coming from.” He narrows his eyes, his voice taking on a hard edge, “He was my first love. He’s the father of my kids. He’s always going to have a piece of my heart—”

“Yeah, I know. I know. I just didn’t expect that that piece was so big, it didn’t leave room for anyone else.”

Hermes’ words have clearly hurt Odysseus, and he is doing nothing to assuage that hurt. And somehow… this is so much worse than what he’d envisioned before the spirit had arrived. Even if Hermes is no longer part of his life, he’s stuck dealing with the ghosts of what could have been. Much as it pains him to admit that someone could be better for Hermes than him, it hurts even more to see Hermes throwing away a good thing. Odysseus clearly loves him and wants the world for him… the same as Charon.

Except… when was the last time that Charon had proven to Hermes that that was what he wanted? He couldn’t even be bothered to show up to his own son’s holiday concert, for fear that the music would be too off-putting. _Of course_ the music was going to be off-putting—there were very few elementary school-aged children capable of producing music the quality of Beethoven or Mozart. But you don’t attend elementary school holiday concerts for the quality of the music. You attend to…

 _Support your children_.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed Pan’s flute case in the bedroom when they’d visited earlier…

“Do you love me, Hermes?” Odysseus asks. Hermes cocks his head to the side, considering.

“I do.” He says at last. It doesn’t escape either of their notice that he doesn’t actually say the words.

[Please, specter, I can’t… there must be something else that you can show me. Something less… _heartbreaking_.]

And just like that… the darkness returns.

* * *

This is… they’re back in his childhood home. Meg and Hypnos are sitting on the floor, amidst a sea of presents. Thanatos and Zagreus are sitting on the couch, Zagreus cuddled up in Thanatos’ lap. Than is curling a strand of Zagreus’ hair around his finger, as he tosses a casual warning to his brother to stop shaking all the presents before he breaks something important. Meg snatches the box from Hypnos’ hands, tearing open the paper to reveal… towels? Expensive towels, but towels nonetheless.

Meg’s eye twitches, “Towels? _Really?_ All the money in the world, and he buys us _towels_ as a housewarming gift. I swear, I’ve never seen a more miserly bastard in all my life.”

Hypnos forces a smile, “I mean… at least he sent us a gift? Since he had that business trip, that kept him away from the wedding…” His smile falters a little. “He really is trying. It’s just… _difficult_ for him now, without Hermes. They were together for so long, sometimes I wonder if he knows how to function without him—”

“He could’ve made the wedding if he truly tried.” Meg says, “He just didn’t _want_ to.”

“Meg…” Hypnos deflates a little. He’d never been particularly good at standing up to Meg. Their relationship dynamic is… interesting, to say the least. “They’re really nice towels.” He tries.

“Ah, yes… I’ll remember how _nice_ the towels are when I use them to dry off my ass after a shower.” She rolls her eyes, “Zagreus managed to buy us something more meaningful. _Zagreus_.”

“Hey!” Zagreus breaks out into a full-on pout.

[I couldn’t even make it to my own brother’s wedding…]

Hypnos doesn’t seem angry. He seems… _resigned_ , like he’d known that this would happen all along—but had deigned to hope for an alternate outcome. He hates this. He hates that he’s disappointed his brother in this way, hates that no-one in the family seems surprised that he’d missed this monumental occasion in his life… If it really has been six years, then… How much has he missed out on, in that time? How many family events has he decided are less important than work? How many holiday concerts had he skipped out on?

In giving his all to his work, he’d let his family life suffer. Even if that had never been his intention, that had been the result. He’d thought that the only victim of his dedication to work would be himself, but now, his fiancé, his children, his brothers and sisters… He sucks in a deep breath, his entire body quaking.

[Specter, please… tell me—is all of this set in stone? Will Hermes really leave me? Will I become so engrossed in my work that my children will hate me, my family will expect the worst from me…?]

The specter’s body is engrossed in a plume of purple smoke.

[I… Give me a second chance, _please_. I… there’s still time, isn’t there? To save Christmas. It’s still Christmas Eve, isn’t it? Please just… just let me have a chance to prove to Hermes and the kids that I can be better.]

Silence.

[Please, I… I can’t lose him. I was foolish to think that I could ever do any of this without him.] He sobs. [To think that he would come back and everything would be fine if I just waited for him to come around. To think that there would always be more time to make things right…]

Another plume of purple smoke. He coughs a little as it invades his lungs.

[All I ask for is a chance to fix this… If I have the chance to say my piece and he still wants nothing to do with me, then so be it. But, I… please… just one more chance is all I ask. _Please_.]

He stares at the specter, who continues to float just a couple of inches off of the ground, spewing that thick, purple smoke… What if this specter chooses to not have mercy? What if they leave him here, in this horrible future, to suffer the consequences of his miserly ways? And then the specter reaches out with one of their thin, bony hands, to grasp the edge of their cloak. The scene before them begins to fade away in a blur of crystalline color as that robe envelops them both in a shroud of darkness.

And then… there is nothing.


	7. Saving Christmas

He wakes up back in his and Hermes’ bed, his arms crushing Hermes’ favorite pillow to his chest.

Could that all have been a… a _dream_? He rolls over to check the time—it’s a little before midnight, on Christmas Eve. So, the specter had taken pity on him, after all! In that moment, he is overcome with relief. Then, there is still a chance to make things right with Hermes and the kids.

The relief is short-lived, however, when he realizes that he’s wasted almost the entirety of Christmas Eve. He and Hermes had been meant to spend that time cooking, preparing for his family to come over the next day. There is no way that he’s going to be able to finish preparing enough food for almost twenty people on such short notice. Unless… throwing the blanket back, he stumbles out of bed and rushes downstairs, to where he’d left his cell phone on the dining room table. There’re no new messages, but he doesn’t have time to worry about that now—

From: Momma’s Little Recluse :Purple_Heart:  
Ma, I need you to come over to the house. It’s an emergency.  
Seen at 11:34PM

From: Mother Night :Black_Heart:  
I’ll be there in ten minutes.  
Seen at 11:36PM

She’s there in seven minutes, maybe a little less. He feels bad for making her rush out here like this in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t know who else he could’ve called. It’s likely that Thanatos had already filled her in regarding everything that’d happened, and while he knows that he ought to at least show some humility for his actions… there’s no time. They only have a handful of hours to make everything that should’ve been made through the course of a day. They can talk in-between stuffing pans into the oven.

“You know… when you said that there was an emergency, I expected to be driving someone to the hospital.” Nyx says, a hint of irritation in her voice. “If I’d known that we’d be cooking… well, I would’ve brought over some of the extras that I’d made. I have enough food back at the house to feed an army.”

[I… might just have to take you up on that, Ma. We’re supposed to be entertaining sixteen people tomorrow, and I don’t think we’ve started defrosting the ham. And isn’t Apollo’s wife a vegetarian now?]

Nyx makes her way into the kitchen to turn on the faucet, “Well, first things first, we need to start defrosting the ham. We won’t cook it until last, but it needs to be fully thawed before we stick it in the oven.”

[Right…] He opens the freezer (it’s filled to bursting with food, most of which he doesn’t remember purchasing—had Hermes bought all of this in preparation for Christmas dinner?) and, after a moment, locates the ham. He places it into the sink, under the running water, [Is there… anything that we should be starting with, in particular?]

“Hmm… we should start with the green bean casserole. It won’t take long to cook, and it’ll sit well in the fridge.” Nyx tells him. Then, a thought occurs to her, “You _do_ know how to make green bean casserole, right?”

[I… know the basics. I can look up the rest on my phone.] He hurries to gather the ingredients.

“And don’t skimp on the soy sauce!”

They fall into a comfortable silence. For a moment, he’s able to forget that they’re rushing to cook meals for his entire extended family because he pushed his fiancé and kids away. That is, of course, until Nyx starts scrubbing the potatoes… Charon and Hermes would always let the boys scrub the potatoes when they made real mashed potatoes, since the boys were always anxious for something to do and washing potatoes was perhaps the least dangerous thing they could do in a kitchen filled with flames and knives and just about everything else under the sun.

He feels sick to his stomach… and as his mind wanders farther away, he starts to spill green beans all over the counter. His mother had just finished setting the pot of potatoes to boil, when she turns and sees the mess that he’s made—her startled exclamation brings him back to himself, and together they scoop the spilled beans into the casserole dish. Charon… isn’t sure what’s gotten into him, but he knows that he has to get ahold of himself if he wants to have everything finished on time. If he isn’t able to pull this off…

He starts to mix in the cans of cream of mushroom soup and the fried onions, thinking to himself. Has Hermes already told his family that Christmas is at their place is cancelled? Probably. If it weren’t so late, he would call Zeus and attempt to explain that there had been a mistake and that Christmas was still on, but…

Who is he kidding? Hermes’ family already hates him. A late-night phone call isn’t likely to change that.

“Now, do you want to tell me what caused all of this?” Nyx’s tone is deceptively patient. “I’ve heard a bit about it from Thanatos already, but I’d rather here it straight from the horse’s mouth.” She says.

[I… well, there really isn’t all that much to say. I fucked up, and I missed Pan’s first concert, and when Hermes confronted me about it, I brushed it off like it was no big deal. I thought… I honestly thought I had more important things to do.] He’s not proud of it, but he’s certainly not going to lie to his mother.

“Charon…” Nyx shakes her head, “Please, tell me that you’ve learned your lesson, at least.”

[I wouldn’t have asked you to come over and help me make food at this hour if I hadn’t.] He replies. [I… I just got to thinking about what could have been, I suppose. And I didn’t like it. Not at all.]

“Tell me that you’ve finished putting the presents together, at least.” She asks.

[Mostly.] He concedes. [I have a few left that I have to wrap, but for the most part—]

“Then, here’s what we’re going to do. The presents that’re assembled and wrapped, we’ll place under the tree. Whatever’s left, we’ll put away and save for the boys’ birthdays. I’m sure that there’s more than enough from the both of them, from you and Hermes _and_ from Santa.”

[Well, yes, but… that’s not even half of the presents that I’d bought for them. And the presents that Hermes brought back with him from overseas, they’re not wrapped either.] He tells her.

“Anything else, and you run the risk of overwhelming them. And then you’ll be upset because it seems like the kids don’t appreciate _anything_ that you’ve bought for them.” Nyx says, a little more forcefully.

He supposes that that’s true, but… he’d spent so much money on all of those presents. He’d worked so hard to be able to afford them. Not that they had ever been in a position where they were hurting for money, but… Christmas always put them back, a bit. It pained him to think about shoving all of those presents into the deepest depths of the closet, to wait for _months_ to hand them over. By then, they’d be outdated, and he would have to trade them in for newer, better models. But then… he’d be _so_ ticked off if the kids didn’t even appreciate the gifts he’d bought them…

This is beginning to seem like a lose-lose situation.

But then, he recalls that Christmas when Hypnos had broken his only present. He should’ve been mad, but… then the boys had given him the handmade card that they’d crafted. It’d been one of his favorite presents, which he kept, in prime condition, to this day. Perhaps it was less about the number of gifts that one received, and more about the _thought_ that went into it. And perhaps, one of these days, he’ll embarrass the twins by bringing that card out of hiding. Maybe he’ll do it at Hypnos’ wedding… The idea makes him smile.

[Ma, please… I’ve gotten myself in deep, and I don’t know how to fix it. All I know is that I _desperately_ want to fix it. If Hermes choses to send me away again, then so be it, but… I don’t even know how to approach him, now. This… This is a start, but it’s not enough. I know it’s not.]

Nyx pulls out her cellphone, “Let me send a quick message to your brother. He’s probably still awake—it’s Christmas Eve, and he has two kids under ten-years-old under his roof, after all.”

[He’s not going to want to see me.] Thanatos is perhaps the one person who hates Charon more than Hermes, at the moment. Thanatos is such a light sleeper… he must be going out of his mind, having everyone and their cousin under his roof on the night before Christmas.

“Yes, well… he’ll just have to learn to live.” Nyx rolls her eyes, just as her text notification sounds. “Ah, good. He and Zagreus are still awake. They’ll be expecting you.”

Charon frowns, [Now? But I have to help you with the cooking.]

“Charon, darling… Know that I love you, with all of my heart. But right now, your idea of cooking is spraying cream of mushroom soup all over the kitchen… You’re more of a hinderance than a help. Go, and be with your family. I have things more than handled here.”

* * *

A short while later, he finds himself standing on Thanatos’ doorstep, uncertain of what he ought to do next. Logically, he knows that he ought to knock. If he continues standing around like this, one of the neighbors might grow suspicious and call the police. And the last thing that he needs is to be calling Hermes to ask him to come and bail him out of jail. Taking a deep breath, he raises a hand to knock… only for the door to fly open, revealing an irate Thanatos, dressed in an oversized white t-shirt and fluffy, leopard-print sneaker socks…

“If it weren’t for the fact that mom had vouched for you, personally, I would let you spend the entire night out here.” Thanatos hisses, “And even so… Hermes doesn’t know that you’re here, and I doubt he _wants_ you here.”

[Still, I… I would very much appreciate the chance to talk to him. I know that I was an ass, and that I don’t deserve this chance, but… if this were you and Zagreus, wouldn’t you want someone else to give you that chance to make things right?] He knows that he doesn’t have a right to try and pull a guilt trip, but…

Thanatos narrows his amber eyes, “The only difference is that _I_ would never hurt Zag like that.”

[Except, you _have_ hurt Zagreus before.] And he knows that all of this is devolving, but he cannot help himself. Thanatos can be _cruel_ when he wants to be. [So don’t act like you’re so much better—]

Thanatos squeezes the doorframe hard enough for the wood to splinter, “Our situations are entirely different. Don’t even try to act like they’re not.” He huffs, “And I’d suggest not pissing me off—unless you’re keen on spending the entire night in the hallway, dressed like _that_.”

Charon looks down. He supposes that he could’ve thrown on something to make himself look a bit more presentable, but he’d been so excited at the prospect of seeing Hermes that he hadn’t been thinking straight. [Look, can we just… agree to disagree, and continue this _after_ Christmas?]

Thanatos considers this for a moment, before noting, “Mom said that she’d send you with some of her Christmas cookies.” He holds out his hand, expectantly.

Charon had wondered why Nyx had shoved the baggie into his pocket on his way out the door. It was so he could bribe his way into Thanatos’ apartment. [Here.] He shoves the bag into his waiting hand, [Now, will you let me pass?]

Thanatos steps aside, allowing Charon into the apartment. When asked where Hermes is, he is kind enough to point to the last door on the left. It stands open, but just a crack… Charon makes his way through the apartment, throwing a soft smile at the boys’, who’re cuddled up in the living room on the pull-out couch. Charon thinks that they were probably rooming with Hermes, but had asked to sleep in the living room that night so that they could see the straggly little tree that Thanatos and Zagreus had tucked away in the corner.

Maybe, sometime after Christmas, he would take Zagreus to the store and buy them one of the Christmas trees that they hadn’t managed to sell prior to Christmas. They’d be able to get a good deal on a fake evergreen… maybe they’d even be selling one of the floor models, and they’d be able to get the ornaments along with it. But he’d worry about that at another time. Continuing on, he presses ever so slightly on the door, so that he might slip inside without causing too much of a ruckus.

Hermes is laying on the bed, on his back, his arms tucked underneath his head. For a moment, Charon thinks that he’s asleep… but then his dark eyes flicker over to meet his own. He looks like he’s been crying recently, because his eyes are glassy and a little red. He doesn’t say a word—he just sits and stares.

Charon stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do now that he’s there, with his fiancé.

Then, [I know that I don’t have any right to ask you this, but… will you at least hear me out. Please?]

Hermes stares at him for a long moment, his expression blank, “I don’t suppose that I can really turn you down after you’ve come all this way. That doesn’t mean that I have to believe a word that comes out of your mouth—”

[Your willingness to listen is more than enough.] Hesitantly, he takes a seat along the side of the bed. Hermes moves his leg out of the way mere seconds before they would have touched. [I was an asshole. I realize that now. I never should’ve volunteered to stay late at work, after I promised to be there for Pan’s concert.]

Hermes huffs, “No, you shouldn’t have. But if that’s all that you’ve come to say to me, then the door is over there. Feel free to see yourself out, and don’t let the door hit you where the good lord—”

He hates to keep interrupting him, but he has more to say. And there’s no telling how long he has to say it, [No, there’s… there’s definitely more. I realize now that I shouldn’t squander the time that I have with any of you. I mean… I have all year to spend with the boys, but I only have a fraction of the year to spend with you. And I’ve been wasting it, working myself into an early grave.]

Hermes sits up a little straighter. His interest as clearly been piqued. “You… Well, I suppose that I have been missing our date nights. I thought that you’d just gotten tired of them…”

[Never. I just… I’d gotten so busy, taking on every little thing that came my way, that there were never enough hours in the day to get everything done.] Charon takes a deep breath, [And I know that that’s not an excuse. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just… I want you to understand that I never meant to hurt you— _any_ of you. I just wanted to give the boys the best Christmas that I could.]

Hermes’ bottom lip juts out, “Any holiday that they got to spend with you would be more than wonderful.”

Hermes is sitting up a little straighter. For the first time, Charon realizes that his fiancé is wearing one of his work shirts to bed—ordinarily, that sort of thing would tick him off, as it would cause the fabric to wrinkle in a way that even an aggressive run-down with the iron cannot completely fix. But right now… there is no denying that Hermes is the most beautifully disheveled thing that he’s ever seen. The buttons are all misaligned, allowing him to catch a glimpse of a delightfully pale collar and, down below, the slightly darker hue of his flaccid cock. For a moment, he’s surprised that Hermes is sleeping half-naked in his soon-to-be brother-in-law’s apartment, but then, he remembers that Hermes hadn’t exactly been in the greatest state of mind when he’d packed the night before…

Charon reaches out to smooth his palm over Hermes’ cheek. The smaller man flinches, but does not pull away. Instead, after a moment of hesitation, he reaches up to close his hand around Charon’s larger one… allowing Charon a glimpse of the purple diamond glittering on his ring finger, exactly where it belongs.

Charon wants to kiss him. He’s not entirely certain Hermes won’t try to bite his tongue off, if he does.

[I’m sorry that I missed Pan’s concert. I never should’ve treated it as a burden. And I have a plan to make it up to him. I just… I’d really like for you to come home with me, all of you, so that we can spend the holiday together, as a family.] Charon implores.

Hermes blinks up at him, a few tears stealing down his cheeks. “Just… tell me one thing, Charon. Are you sorry?”

[I am sorrier for this than I’ve been about anything in my entire life.] He tells him. [I am so very, very sorry, Hermes. I don’t expect that you’ll forgive me now, but—]

Hermes tucks a finger underneath Charon’s chin, tilting his head back just enough to capture his lips in a soft, sweet kiss. It tastes of love and home and _forgiveness_ , and it makes the old miser _melt_ …


	8. Rewarding Bad Behavior

Hermes lays back on the bed, his dark curls fanning out around his head in a sweet little halo. Charon tumbles down on top of him, catching himself mere moments before their faces collide. He cannot believe that they’re actually about to do this—in his little brother’s guest room, no less.

But then Hermes smiles at him, soft and sweet, and he finds that he doesn’t really care. Thanatos will forgive him, eventually (or he won’t—he has been known to hold grudges over the oddest things, after all—and their mother will bribe him with another baggie of cookies). With his free hand, Charon traces the sharp contours of Hermes’ cheekbones, committing the curve of his jaw, the swell of his chin, the length of his neck to memory. It feels like forever since he’s had the chance to touch Hermes like this, even if, in reality, it’s only been a handful of days.

He lowers his face to Hermes’, brushing his lips over his fiancé’s. His touch is gentle, reverent—it is not what Hermes is looking for, but it is what Charon needs. Though want churns within him, replacing the blood in his veins with molten lava, he is far more desperate to make this last. To show to Hermes just how much he adores him. His love for his fiancé _should_ never be called into question—and he was determined to ensure that it _would_ never be called into question again. There wasn’t a thing in this world more important to him—expect, perhaps, their two boys.

Hermes hooks an arm around Charon’s broad shoulders, tugging the larger man down so that he’s pressing Hermes’ lithe body deep into the memory foam. His legs fall open, the hem of Charon’s dress shirt riding up to reveal several additional inches of pale skin. Charon eyes the display hungrily. Hermes had aged like a fine wine—he was every bit as beautiful to Charon now as he had been the first time that they’d done this. He’d taken excellent care of his body (the fact that he could crush a watermelon between his thighs would _never_ be a turn-off for Charon, _never_ ), and was just as flexible—and strong—as he had been that first night he’d shown Charon how he could twist himself up into a ball just to suck his own cock. Speaking of… they’d have to try that again, later.

Hermes’ fingers scrabble to undo the buttons of Charon’s pajama shirt, as he asks, “I don’t suppose you brought any lube with you?” Charon shakes his head. Honestly, he’d never thought they’d make it this far…

Honestly, the idea of combing through his brother’s drawers in search of lube disgusted him. And grabbing the tube of hand lotion from the bathroom wasn’t much better—[What suitcase did you pack?]

Hermes furrows his brows, “Um… the black and white suitcase set? Why… Don’t tell me that…”

Charon climbs off the bed and, a second later, pulls a tiny, travel-sized bottle of lube out of the front, top-most pouch. [The last time we used that set, we were on vacation and you… well, you got a bit randy in the airport while we were waiting for our flight.] What were the odds that he would’ve brought _that_ specific set?

“In my defense, our flight had been delayed six hours. Which meant that our anniversary celebration was delayed six hours. I have enough trouble keeping my hands off of you on a regular basis—”

Charon rolls his eyes, [I’ll never understand you.]

His fiancé giggles, “You don’t have to understand me. You just have to love me.”

[That… That I can do.] He settles on the bed, in-between Hermes thighs. He reaches out to run his fingers along the inside of Hermes’ left leg, approaching the seam where thigh meets pelvis, and spends a moment stroking the tender skin there whilst he thinks. Then, [I… here, take this.]

Hermes furrows his brows, “Do you want me to prep myself to take you?” He asks.

Charon shakes his head, [No, I… I want you to…]

Charon doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants… so he does the next best thing. Hooking his fingers into the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms, he tugs them down and off, before tossing them off of the foot of the bed. He spreads his legs a little, praying that Hermes will be able to fill in the gaps without Charon having to come right out and _ask_. He can’t remember the last time that he’d bottomed for Hermes (he knows that they’d had to have done it at least once, once upon a time, because he remembers it being… _uncomfortable_ —not because Hermes had done anything wrong, or because Charon didn’t like what was happening, but… because it was difficult for him to be so _vulnerable_ , even with his own fiancé).

Hermes watches him for a moment, before his eyes widen, ever so slightly. “I… Are you sure? Please… don’t think that you need to do this to make things up to me. I’d be more than happy to continue on as we were—”

Charon has never been one for dirty talk—in part because it never takes much to get Hermes’ motor running, and in part because… well, for lack of a better word, it makes him feel _dirty_. But this… [I… I want you to press me down into the mattress and dominate me. Please, Hermes…]

Hermes tucks a strand of sweat-slick ashen hair behind Charon’s ear, “Alright. Alright… lay back, then. We’ll take this nice and slow…” He shimmies forward, settling himself in-between Charon’s legs.

Hermes contemplates rolling Charon over onto his stomach, but ultimately decides against it. He wants to be able to see Charon’s face, to know that he’s not experiencing any sort of discomfort. Leaning down, he closes the distance between their faces, brushing their lips together in a soft, soothing kiss. And then… the cap _pops_ off of the lube with a resounding _click_. Charon’s pale blue eyes watch as Hermes drizzles a decent amount of the clear, sweetly scented liquid onto his fingers, warming it just a little before… Charon sucks in a sharp breath as those long, slender fingers tease the length of his cock, glide over the swell of his sac, and continue lower still, to his taint. A second later, they’re probing at his puckered entrance, the pressure becoming more and more insistent until—

“That’s it… You have such a greedy little hole, Charon. Why, look at how quickly it’s sucking my finger in!” Hermes smiles brightly, as his free hand moves to Charon’s stomach, sliding up underneath the hem of his shirt to gently massage his abdominal muscles. “Relax for me, okay. Focus on how good it feels…”

Charon draws in a deep, shuddering breath… and nods.

After a moment, Hermes is able to move his finger. He works it in and out, slow and steady, over and over… Then, “Do you think you can handle another finger, Charon?” Another nod, “Really? Good. You’re so good for me…”

He pours more lube on his fingers, making a mess of Charon’s thighs and the bedsheets beneath them. Charon would be upset about it, were it not for the sensation of a second finger sliding in alongside the first… He scissors them slowly, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing over his sensitive walls, and, _oh_ —

Hermes’ eyes light up, “Did you like that, darling?” He presses down again, a little harder this time. Charon’s entire body _jolts_ , and then melts into the mattress. His cock twitches, a steady stream of pre leaking onto his belly. “Oh, I think that you do…”

Charon spreads his legs a little wider, canting his hips up just so to allow Hermes better access—

Three fingers in, and he’s putty in Hermes’ hands. Once Hermes is satisfied that he’s properly stretched, he withdraws his hand, wiping the excess lube off on the bedsheets. Charon barely has a chance to think that Thanatos ought to just burn this sheet set—and maybe the bed, along with it—before Hermes uses the rest of the bottle to slick up his cock. Taking up one of Charon’s thighs, he lines himself up with Charon’s quivering hole and pushes in… slow at first, and then all at once. And it feels absolutely divine.

He’s always known that his fiancé is rather well-endowed. But there’s something about having _all of him_ tucked away inside of him that makes him want to _cry_ with relief. He thinks about pushing Hermes down and riding him for all he’s worth, but there’s something even _more_ attractive about having Hermes press him down and take what he wants. Hermes leans forward, putting pressure on Charon’s thigh until the muscles _scream_. A certain ache fills the entirety of his lower body. He shudders, giving himself over to the steady thrust of Hermes’ cock, in and out…

He must look like an absolute mess, because Hermes is there, rambling on about the pretty little thing sprawled out underneath him. He can feel the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, the drool dribbling down his chin as he holds his mouth open to suck in desperate gulps of air. The hem of his shirt is tacky with pre, and his dress shirt (when had Hermes found the time to unbutton the shirt?) is hanging loose around Hermes’ lithe body, the white material stained with the sweat that pours off of him as he works to bring them both to the very precipice of pleasure. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes the fact that the headboard is bouncing against the wall that the guest bedroom shares with the master bedroom…

Thanatos is definitely going to kill him. Maybe both of them.

Hermes’ fingers twist in Charon’s ashen blond hair, “Do you want me to pull out? I probably should’ve asked if you wanted me to put on a condom—I’m sure you would’ve been able to whip one up out of thin air.” He laughs a little, though it’s breathless. He’s close.

Charon shakes his head. And then, if that weren’t clear enough, he hooks his legs around Hermes’ waist, locking him into position. Hermes’ eyes widen, just a little.

“Well, okay then! I guess that means that I get to have even more fun helping you to get clean once this is all over…” Hermes licks his lips, his dark eyes twinkling at the thought.

Tangling his fingers in Hermes’ hair, he brings the smaller man down for another, desperate kiss. He tastes copper and sweat, the molten hot _ache_ between his legs spreading throughout his body, causing a delightful _heaviness_ to overtake him as… Charon sighs as he cums, effectively ruining his pajama top forever. Hermes is not far behind him. A few thrusts later, his hips still, and the heat that had been building in the pit of Charon’s stomach is replaced by another, no less pleasant heat.

They lay there together for just a moment, in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Then, “Next time, do you think we could skip all of the fighting and head straight for the make-up sex? It would save us a lot of time.”

[I really am sorry. I’ll be better. I promise that I’ll be better. I never want to think about what my life might be like without the three of you in it.] He signs. His movements are a little slow and shaky as he comes down from his orgasmic high. [I… did my best to save Christmas. Or, well… to salvage what I could of it.]

His fiancé frowns, “What do you mean?”

[We usually spend Christmas Eve prepping food for Christmas dinner and assembling the boys’ Christmas presents. We didn’t have a chance to do that this year, because of my foolishness… so I called my mom and asked for her help.] He admits. Hermes stares at him, confusion and awe apparent on his face.

“You… You really didn’t have to do that. I already called my parents, they know that the celebration is off. We were just going to have a small get-together at their house tomorrow.” He doesn’t seem too thrilled with the idea, however. “Mom… _Hera_ … wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, but… well, she’s never thrilled with anything.”

[Well, I’d thought… If Hera isn’t thrilled with the change of plans, then maybe there’s still a chance to make her Christmas bright.] He rolls his eyes—as if anything could _actually_ please Hera.

Hermes seems to consider this for a moment, “Do you really think that we’d be able to have everything together in time?” He asks.

[I think that the bulk of it will be ready, at least. If anything, she might not have time to finish the dessert.]

And then, “Do we have alcohol in the house? God, we can’t have dad and Aunt Demeter under the same roof without alcohol in the house… and an entire bottle, just for Ares, to give him the strength to deal with them both.”

They have alcohol, and plenty of it. Perhaps not what Demeter or Zeus preferred to drink, but alcohol is alcohol is alcohol. If they can get drunk off of it, they will learn to love it. Though… if his vision is anything to go off of, perhaps it’s not the best idea to allow Zeus and Demeter unfettered access to the alcohol. With enough alcohol loosening their tongues, their liable to push someone (erm… _Ares_ ) just hard enough to have Christmas end with someone in the hospital and someone behind bars. And he doesn’t want to shell out the cash to bail _anyone_ out of jail.

He’ll do it. Of course he’ll do it. At present, Ares is the only sibling that Hermes can stand to be with for more than thirty minutes at a time. He wouldn’t jeopardize that relationship—or his own relationship with Hermes, not again—by refusing Ares his aid in his time of need.

That’s not how a real family ought to treat each other. And he… he wants them to be a _real_ family.

“Well… if you’re certain that we can handle it, then I’ll call dad and let him know that he ought to round everyone up and bring them over around noon…”

* * *

Charon is in the shower, eyes closed as he washes the sweat from his hair, when the sliding glass door opens and Hermes slides in behind him. Charon spins around just in time for Hermes to stand on tip-toe, his hands curling around Charon’s broad shoulders, in search of some measure of support, and his lips brushing over Charon’s own. He curls his arms around Hermes’ waist, bringing him in just a hair closer. Both are aware that they need to be careful here. They’d had to be quiet back in the room, of course, but here… the tiles and the glass magnify sound tenfold, and with how loud Hermes can be, they’ll wake all of the residents of Thanatos’ little apartment… and the entire floor, while they’re at it.

Hermes steps back, before taking a deep breath, “Well… it took quite a bit of convincing, but they’ll be over at noon.” He tells him, “My father wasn’t particularly thrilled to be receiving a call at this hour, but then… apparently, Hera was pestering him for something or other, so…”

[I don’t understand how you do it.] Charon tells him. [I can barely stand it, and they’re just my in-laws. You’ve had to deal with them for thirty-odd years.] He and his siblings have their ups and downs, of course, but their lives thus far have been _nothing_ like the hell that Hermes has described.

“I just… well, I just think about how sad it is, that dad and Aunt Demeter and Hera… they’re all each other has, and they treat each other horribly. And so, I do my best to remember that they’re human beings who deserve to be treated with decency and respect… even if they can’t to the same for one another.”

[You’re a better man than I am, I’ll give you that.] Charon offers him a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hermes smiles back, “You’re a good man, Charon. I wouldn’t have forgiven you if that weren’t true.” He indicates for Charon to spin around, and after a brief pause, he does. Hermes sinks his fingers into the plump flesh of Charon’s ass, gently tugging the cheeks apart… “And I think I have the _perfect_ reward for you finally pulling your head out of your ass…”


	9. A Very Special Christmas Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any Ares/Thanatos fans, I'm working on a fill for the Hades Kink Meme that should be ready to be posted tomorrow (it will be set in canon 'verse, not this 'verse). Stay tuned!

Hermes’ tongue teases at his tight little furl, his seed oozing out of Charon’s loose hole in a slow, steady trickle.

A dark blush stains his cheeks as Hermes pulls his cheeks further apart, to lick a wet strip over the length of his taint. His nose teases at the seam of his sac, each sharp exhalation causing a puff of hot air to wash over the sensitive skin. He has half a mind to turn back around, to have Hermes wrap those shining, sinful lips around his sac and _suck_. He knows from experience that that _mouth_ is capable of bringing him to the very heights of pleasure, although it’s rare that he has the chance to put it to use on Charon in this way.

Charon sucks in a sharp breath as Hermes rolls his tongue and presses the curled tip to his entrance. He shudders, grabbing, desperately, for something to keep himself stable whilst that tongue slithers inside of him. It’s nowhere near as deep as Hermes’ cock had been, but then, it doesn’t need to be. There’s a wet _slurp_ as he messily drinks down the cum that he’d spilled just a little while earlier, a mixture of semen and drool spilling down the insides of Charon’s legs. Charon shivers, pressing back, insistently, against Hermes’ face…

It’s over far too soon. Charon’s cock gives a gentle twitch as that tongue withdraws, and he turns in time to catch Hermes wipe his mouth on the back of his hand. “There—all clean.” He flashes a roguish grin.

Charon rolls his eyes, [I’m not sure that you can quite call that _clean_.]

Hermes’ grin widens, “Oh? Well, then… never let it be said that I didn’t help you get the most out of your shower.” He reaches for the handheld showerhead, detaching it from the wall and pressing the pulsating stream right up between Charon’s legs. Charon jumps, “Oh? Did you like that, darling?”

It appeared as though this was bound to be one unproductive shower…

* * *

It occurs to him, as he lay in bed, Hermes’ cuddled up to his chest (and drooling all over the extra pair of pajamas that he’d managed to track down for him), that he hasn’t the slightest about what he’s going to say to the boys. It shouldn’t be too difficult to patch things up with Evander. Their youngest seems to think he can do no wrong—which isn’t _good_ ; he’s a human being with faults (if this experience has shown him anything, it’s that he has quite a few of them) and it’ll be for the best if the boys learn young that he’s not perfect. There is no such thing as perfect.

Pan… Pan will be a little bit more difficult. Pan takes after Aphrodite in the fact that, once his feelings are _hurt_ , there’s no putting balm on the wound. He forgives in his own time—which, in a way, is a good thing. He takes time to truly process what it is that he’s feeling and the apology that he’s been offered, so that he knows when he tells someone ‘it’s okay’, he well and truly means it. Charon has often thought him to be wise beyond his years—a gentle soul that’s not quite ready to handle the heartbreak lurking in every corner of their reality.

It was Charon’s job to protect _both_ Pan and Evander from that heartbreak for as long as possible…

Instead, he had been the one to subject them to it.

“What’s the matter?” Hermes doesn’t bother opening his eyes. In fact, Charon isn’t entirely certain that he’s fully awake. “Come now, Charon. We only have a couple of hours until the boys are up and screaming for presents. We might as well attempt to take full advantage of it and _sleep_.”

Charon stares at the ceiling in silence. Then, freeing up his other arm, he signs, [Pan, I… I know that I need to apologize to him. But… well, I’m afraid that I don’t know how.]

Hermes blinks, “Well… just tell him what you told me. Tell him that you realized your mistake, and that you never should’ve volunteered to stay late at work instead of going to the concert. Tell him that you got so caught up in trying to give them the best holiday possible, you lost track of what was really important.”

Charon takes a deep breath, [And what if he doesn’t forgive me?]

“I suppose that that’s always a possibility. But you won’t know unless you try.” He says. “And even if he doesn’t forgive you, his anger won’t last forever. But it’s _your_ responsibility to take that first step.”

[Is it… foolish to be frightened of something like this?] He asks.

“Honestly, Charon? I’d be more concerned if you weren’t…” Hermes taps his chest lightly, before swooping in to press a kiss to one bulging pectoral. “Now, please… try to get some rest, alright? We have a long day ahead of us.”

Charon is just starting to think that he might be able to catch a few winks when the door to the bedroom flies open with such force that it collides with the far wall with a resounding _bang_. He sits up so quickly, Hermes tumbles off of his chest and nearly flies off the side of the bed. He doesn’t have a chance to check on Hermes, however, because a second later Pan launches himself at the bed and lands, knees-first, on Charon’s stomach. Pain, the likes of which he has never felt before, blossoms in his stomach and spreads like the plague.

“Daddy! Daddy, it’s Christmas!” He exclaims. Once more, Charon is reminded of the fact that this guest room shares a wall with Thanatos and Zagreus’ bedroom. “Uncle Zagreus said that he had presents for us—!”

Hermes’ eyes open, ever so slowly. “Yes, yes. I know that he and Thanatos have several presents for the both of you. You hold the coveted position of being their only nephews.” Well, perhaps they weren’t their _only_ nephews, but there were only so many presents you could buy a six-month-old infant.

Babies were cute, but sometimes you liked to hear someone say ‘thank you’ for a present that they’d received.

Evander chimes in with, “Uncle Zagreus and Uncle Thanatos said that we can’t open the presents until everyone is awake!” Of course they did—because Thanatos and Zagreus are still young enough that being awake at this godforsaken hour, excited at the prospect of tearing into presents.

Well, as excited as Thanatos has ever been about anything.

“Uncle Zagreus is even making us breakfast!” And… oh my, wasn’t _that_ a terrifying thought. Hermes hopes that Achilles had taken the time to teach his cousin how to cook, because otherwise, the boys would be eating half-cooked pancake batter stuffed with frozen blueberries—

“Alright. Alright, we’re getting up—” Despite the fact that Pan had practically catapulted on top of Charon, this seems to be the first time that either boy notices that Hermes is not alone in the bed.

“Papa…?” Pan looks at Charon uncertainly, and Charon braces for a full-on fight. Then—

The bed _creaks_ as the seven-year-old shifts just enough to tackle Charon, his little legs straddling either side of Charon’s stomach as his arms hook around his neck and squeeze for all that he’s worth. Charon’s eyes widen—he looks to Hermes for some kind of clue as to how to handle this. Hermes just smiles and nods, as he places a hand on the small of the little boy’s back. This isn’t quite forgiveness, but it’s also not the hysterics that he’d been expecting. It’s _nothing_ like what he’d been expecting… and that fills his heart to bursting.

After a moment, he slides his arms around his son’s waist and hugs him back as tight as he dares. He recalls the Pan of that horrible future, who’d felt so distant… who hated him for what he’d done to their little family. He wants to tell him that he never has to worry about such things coming to pass, wants to promise him that he’ll do everything within his power to keep their family together for as long as possible. But he realizes that all of that would seem rather out of left field, considering that there was no tangible evidence that anything he’d endured over the last day had been anything more than a dream… And the last thing he wants to do is scare any of them, attempting to explain a story that he himself failed to fully grasp. And so he does the next best thing…

He waits for Pan to pull away from the hug first (he always waits for the boys to pull away first, regardless of who initiated the hug—one can never be too sure about how long a child wants, or needs, to be held, after all), before picking the boy up and settling him down on his lap.

[I’m very sorry that I missed your concert, Pan.] He tells him, [It was wrong of me, no matter the reason. But I think that I have _just_ the thing to make it up to you.]

Pan scrunches up his little nose, “Make it up to me? How?”

Charon looks to Hermes, who offers him a small nod of encouragement. [We’re having the family over the house this afternoon for Christmas dinner, remember?] A nod, [Well, we usually put on the Yule log while we serve dessert. But I was thinking, this year… maybe you could give us a private concert?]

“A private…” Confusion is plain on the little boy’s face as he turns to Hermes, “But I… well, I only know two or three songs. And I’m… I really don’t play all that good yet.”

Hermes smiles, “Well, everyone loved your concert at school. This wouldn’t be all that different.” He affectionally tousles Pan’s dark curls, “Think about it, hmm? In the meantime, why don’t you and your brother get washed up for breakfast? We’ll join you in a bit.”

The boys scurry off, excited at the prospect of being that much closer to opening their presents. Hermes flops back against the mattress, heaving a dramatic sigh. Charon capitalizes on the moment of peace to check the time (Christmas is still the only day of the year that those boys can be roused from bed before eight o’clock in the morning, it seems). He pinches the bridge of his nose—if it weren’t for the fact that they’d have to be up, entertaining, for _hours_ , he’d find it endearing. But now…

“Well, I guess we ought to—” Hermes is interrupted by the shrill cry of the smoke detector in the other room. He rolls his eyes, “I suppose that no-one taught Coz how to cook, after all…”

* * *

A half-hour later, Charon and Hermes find themselves standing in Thanatos and Zagreus’ kitchenette. Charon’s brother shoves an over-full mug of coffee into each of their hands (the drinks are somehow both black and a little watery—Charon finds neither of which overly appealing, but from the look on Thanatos’ face, he deems it unwise to voice his discontent). Zagreus is plating up slightly burned pancakes (which, if Charon isn’t mistaken, are still part uncooked dough), which the boys start tearing into before they’re even fully settled.

“How did the two of you sleep? Good? That makes two of us.” Zagreus’ green eye is twitching. Given the way his bags are packed, Charon doesn’t think that he’s exaggerating.

Thanatos slams a box down on the counter, “I have an early present for the two of you.” When neither move to open the box, he slides it across the table toward them, “This’ll help you out, the next time that you decide to have sex—” they instinctively put their hands over the boys’ ears, “in my guest room.”

Hermes pauses a moment, staring at the box. Then, taking the present, he tears open the paper to find… a roll of duct tape? Charon’s eye twitches—was Thanatos really suggesting he _duct tape_ his fiancé’s mouth shut the next time that they… Hermes, on the other hand, seems amused. “Kinky.”

Pan is pouting, his mouth stuffed full of half-cooked blueberry pancake, “Why do _they_ get to open a present early?!”

Charon frowns, “Because your uncle is being a—” he mouths the word ‘jackass’, and doesn’t miss the way that Thanatos flips him the bird in response.

Hermes places his chin on top of Evander’s head, “You two didn’t have any trouble sleeping last night, right?”

The boys share a look, before shaking their heads. “We heard a weird knocking, but we figured that that was Santa Claus coming to deliver our presents. You told Santa Claus that we’d be spending Christmas morning with Uncle Thanatos and Uncle Zagreus, right?”

The boys finish their respective breakfasts in record time, and turn their attention to the presents piled underneath the tree. Charon is just settling down to his own breakfast by the time that the paper starts flying in the other room—Pan had received a new pair of over-the-head headphones, branded with the trademark design of his favorite WWE Wrestler. He’d also received a t-shirt with Mort on it, a new music stand, a couple of books, and… was that Thanatos’ Mort plushie? But, he’d thought that…

In his dream, or vision, or… or _whatever_ it was, Nyx had given Pan the Mort plushie to comfort him because he would be spending Christmas away from his family for the first time in… well, forever. To have Pan still be receiving Mort… he looks around, desperate for some sort of explanation. Did this mean that something was still awry—that he still had to _fix_ something to set things right? Pan seems to like the stuffie more than he did in the dream, at least. In fact, he’s so pleased with it that he’s causing the stuffing to pop right through the stitches..

“Hahaha, we’re glad that you like it, kiddo.” Zagreus offers him a small, tired smile. He takes a long sip of his coffee, “It was actually Than’s idea, believe it or not.” He says.

Thanatos nods, resting his head on Zagreus’ shoulder. “Mom gave me that plushie to help protect against bad dreams. But now…” He averts his eyes, a dark blush coloring his cheeks, “Well, now that I have this idiot to protect me… I figured it was time to share the love.”

“Thank you!” Pan exclaims, smiling bright. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He takes off running, managing to catch both men in a tight embrace. “I love all of my gifts so, _so_ much!”

Evander is next to open his presents. While he’s tossing bits and pieces of wrapping paper into the air, all while Hermes records the destruction on his phone, Charon takes this opportunity to explain the plan that he and Nyx had come up with to Thanatos and Zagreus. They seem receptive, if not a little put-off about the idea of spending the entire day with Hermes and Zagreus’ family. Charon suspects that the only thing worse would be spending the holidays with Hades himself…

If ever there were a man more miserly than he…

“I mean, it _would_ be nice to spend the holidays with family.” Zagreus says. And then, quietly, underneath his breath, he adds, “Of course, you’re the only family that I need, Than, but they’re… well, they’re blood, and I worked so hard, for so long, to get into contact with them…”

Thanatos pinches the bridge of his nose, “You _do_ realize that we’ve been invited to spend the holiday at my mom’s, right? Which will be about one-thousand times less stressful than dealing with… _all of them_.”

Zagreus rolls his eyes, “You like some of my family, admit it.” Thanatos grumbles something unintelligible, “Why, if it weren’t for Ares, you probably wouldn’t be able to walk right now.”

Thanatos’ eye twitches, “While that may be true…” he rubs the back of his neck, where he’d herniated two discs several months before. “There are several members of your family who’d sooner see you dating someone like… like _Helen,_ or—”

Zagreus narrows his eyes, “Dude, Helen is _married_.”

His boyfriend rolls his eyes, “You say that like you really think that matters to Uncle Zeus. He’s been married to Auntie Hera for _how_ long, and has been cheating on her for even longer.”

[Much as I’m enjoying this conversation…] Charon is very much _not_ enjoying this conversation. [I really need to know if you’re coming, if only because we need to set two extra places at the table. And I need to know when to bring the two of you your presents.]

“Presents?” This seems to pique Zagreus’ interest. “We’ll be there!”

“We will?” Thanatos raises a thin, light blond eyebrow.

By then, of course, the boys had heard that they were coming, and there was no backing out of it. Charon returns his attention to the boys, not surprised to find them sitting in a sea of shredded paper. Evander is attempting to shove his feet into his brand new sneakers (which were the same brand that Hermes used when he ran professionally), and Pan is attempting to figure out how to sync his new headphones with Hermes’ phone… Maybe his mother was right, and they’d be overwhelmed by the number of presents he’d bought for them…

Perhaps this Christmas wouldn’t be an absolute disaster, after all. Perhaps there was still time to set things right with his extended family, and to worm his way back into their good graces…

…And to make Hermes proud to wear that tremendous purple diamond upon his finger.

But first—he had to finish his pancakes.


	10. A Coming Storm

Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d skipped out on those last few pancakes…

He can no longer claim that the ache in his stomach is a side-effect of stress. The water-coffee that Thanatos had shoved into his hands isn’t helping; if anything, it’s adding to his abdominal distress. He watches the boys running about—it’s clear that they’re not feeling any adverse effects from their meal. Maybe it’s just a result of missing out on vital sleep, after pushing himself beyond his means for _weeks_ leading up to Christmas Day. Or maybe it’s nerves, knowing that he’ll be dealing with Hermes’ family for the _entire day_.

He knows that Hermes’ family doesn’t like him. It’s not for the same reason that they dislike Thanatos (and, to be perfectly honest, he’s always suspected that the reason Zeus and any number of the others don’t like Thanatos goes far beyond the number of zeroes bolstering his bank account). No, Hermes’ family doesn’t like him for the same reason that Hermes had walked out on him the other night. This is not the first time that he’s allowed his love of money to interfere with his familial duties. It’d never gotten to be this bad before, had never gotten to the point where he’d put paperwork above his sons. And while he certainly didn’t intend to make that mistake again, Hermes’ family already knew what’d happened—and would use that information to make the next hours of his life a living hell.

He can’t say anything to Hermes, of course. In part because he thinks that he deserves the austere treatment, and in part because he knows that, if he doesn’t, they’ll unleash all of that pent-up frustration on Hermes. And Hermes has had more than his fair share of excitement this vacation. If Charon can do anything to make Hermes’ holiday a little more peaceful, then he’ll do it, no questions asked. He just… needs to handle the matter of his upset stomach, first. Gathering up all of the dirty dishes, he walks them into the little kitchenette and begins to wash them (of the many things that Thanatos can—rightfully—complain about regarding this impromptu visit, dirty dishes won’t be one of them). And while he’s in the kitchen, perhaps he can make himself some tea for the road.

His little brother exists in a perpetual state of stress, so it stands to reason that he keeps all sorts of stress and anxiety reducing teas on hand. It doesn’t take him long to find it (it’s in the cabinet next to the stove, along with more novelty mugs than Thanatos and Zagreus could ever hope to drink out of…).

“What time should we be leaving, then?” Hermes sets his chin on Charon’s shoulder, as Charon sets the tea kettle on to boil. “And, um… Shouldn’t you check in with your mom and make sure that the house hasn’t burned down?”

Charon nods—that’s not a half-bad idea. He should tell her, at the very least, that he and Hermes have made amends (and that Thanatos didn’t attempt to smother him in his (admittedly very limited) sleep). As soon as the cups are ready (he prepares a cup for Hermes, just in case), he pulls out his phone and texts his mother—

From: Momma’s Little Recluse :Purple_Heart:  
Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you, Ma. Hermes and I were able to patch things up, and the whole family is coming over at noon.  
Seen at 7:03AM

From: Mother Night :Black_Heart:  
I’m glad to hear it, darling. I just put your ham in the crockpot. It should be ready by the time your guests arrive.  
Seen at 7:05AM

From: Momma’s Little Recluse :Purple_Heart:  
Are you sure that I cannot convince you to join us? I know that I don’t really have the right, after you spent the entire night helping me to rectify the consequences of my own idiocy…  
Seen at 7:06AM

From: Mother Night :Black_Heart:  
Oh, darling, I would… I would. But I’m having a small get-together at the house around the same time. You’re more than welcome to come over after your own festivities are over.  
Seen at 7:06AM

Charon hands his phone to Hermes, [What do you say? I know that we’re going to be exhausted after all of this, but… It might be nice, to spend some time with my brother and sisters. Not Eris, but… It’s been awhile since I’ve seen the triplets.] This nightmare has just served to reinforce how much he’s missed them.

“Christmas with Nyx?” Hermes is unable to quite keep the excitement out of his tone, “Of course we’ll go! Why, if we hadn’t just had this whole back and forth with my parents, I’d say to just skip it and—”

[Mom handled everything, right down to the Christmas cookies. If we head over now, we might even have a chance to catch a couple hours’ worth of sleep before your father arrives ‘fashionably early’.]

“Nyx’s Christmas cookies?!” He exclaims. “Come, boys! We have places to be! Tell Uncle Thanatos and Uncle Zagreus thank you again for all of the wonderful presents—” The little one’s catapult themselves at Thanatos, who lets out a startled shout as he attempts to regain his footing.

Charon exchanges the novelty mugs that he’d chosen for two travel mugs (he’ll wash them back at home, and return them to Thanatos when he came over for dinner—or, when Zagreus dragged him over to their house for dinner) and fills them with tea. The stress-relieving blend is not the most flavorful—in fact, it smells rather awful. But Charon drops one ice cube in each of the mugs (to cool the boiling water down to the perfect drinking temperature), and takes a sip. No, the stress-relieving blend is not flavorful at all, but it does the trick, and settles his stomach immediately.

Once Thanatos and Zagreus have said their respective goodbyes, Thanatos wanders off to the bedroom (presumably to sleep—Charon suspects that they’ll exchange their own presents once Charon and the others have gotten out of their hair). Hermes takes his travel mug, but waits to take a sip of his tea. Instead, he ushers the boys out of the apartment and into the parking lot, automatically starting and unlocking the car. The boys clamber into their respective seats, already big enough that they can strap themselves into their car seats all by themselves.

When had they gotten so big? Why, just yesterday, Charon could’ve sworn that they were infants…

Hermes turns to him, then, “Hey, Charon? Would you mind running back into the apartment and grabbing the bags? I don’t know why I didn’t think to grab them on the way out…”

[Why don’t you take the boys back to the house?] Charon offers, [I have to bring the other car back, anyhow. I’ll load it up and bring all of our stuff home, so you just… focus on you and the boys, alright?]

Hermes raises a brow, “Are you sure? I’m not sure that you’re in any condition to be driving yourself anywhere…”

Charon shakes his head, [I’ll be fine. Worst case scenario, I’ll ride over with Thanatos and Zagreus. Thanatos already hates me… what’s one more favor on top of what I’ve already asked him for last night?] He offers his fiancé a lop-sided smile, [Everything will be fine. I’ll text you if it’s not.]

“If you’re sure…” Hermes doesn’t sound convinced, but he lets the matter drop. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to Charon’s lips, “Love you, darling.”

[I love you, too.] And then he and the boys are gone.

Charon takes another sip of his tea. It’s helping to settle his stomach, but working far too slowly for his tastes. Heading back into the building, he steps into the elevator and presses the button for Thanatos’ floor. The ride is quick (and the only other person in the elevator is kind enough to leave him be, stepping off the elevator on the floor before Thanatos’ with a bright ‘Merry Christmas’—Charon returns the sentiment with a small wave and the ghost of a smile. Another sip of tea, and he’s back at Thanatos’ apartment. He’s thankful he’d come back, because they hadn’t shut the door all of the way when they’d left a short while before… He presses the door open, intent on grabbing their belongings and leaving before he causes further trouble, when—

He catches a glimpse of a shadow moving along the wall, near the glistening lights of their Christmas tree. “Mmm… _Thanatos_ … f-fuck yes, just like that!” The screams are accentuated by the raucous slap of flesh on flesh.

Charon slams the door shut without a second thought. Fuck the luggage—he’ll grab it later.

* * *

Zeus is the first to arrive at the house. The old man bears a striking resemblance to Santa Claus, right down to the blood red turtleneck he’s stuffed himself into (all of that alcohol has not been kind to the old man’s physique, that’s for sure). He flashes them a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, throwing his arms around Hermes in a bone-crushing hug that both know means absolutely nothing. Charon likes to think that Zeus has actual compassion for his children, but… after the future that he’d seen, where he’d torn into Ares like that, he just couldn’t believe it. Zeus had something horrible to say about each one of his children, though it wasn’t often that he was bold enough to say it to their faces. The only ones who seemed to be able to do no wrong were—

“Grandpa!” The boys launch themselves into Zeus’ waiting arms, causing him to drop the bag of presents that he’d brought. He stumbles backward a bit, laughing jovially—

“Oh, for the love of…” And that would be Demeter, pushing her brother out of the way so that she might come inside the house. She’s… smoking, despite the fact that Charon has asked her not to do so in the house any number of times. “Someone ought to teach those kids some self-control.”

Hermes offers her a tight-lipped smile, “Hello, Auntie. It’s… so nice of you to join us. And I see that you brought Uncle Poseidon, as well. I wish that you would’ve told us that he was coming—”

“Well, we figured that it would be fine, since Hera won’t be coming this year.” Hermes had to know that it was coming, but it still causes his shoulders to slump a little. He doesn’t even like Hera—but it’s still nice for his family to be altogether for the holiday. “Oh, and Apollo and his wife will be late.” Zeus adds.

“Are they bringing the baby?” Hermes asks.

Zeus rolls his eyes, “When was the last time that they went anywhere without that damned baby?”

Artemis and Athena arrive together. As is customary with any family gathering, Artemis is toting three dictionary-thick books in her knapsack (somehow, she’ll manage to have read at least one and a half of the books by the time they _finally_ leave). She’s discussing some aspect of her doctoral thesis with Athena, who is managing to hold her own in a debate that Charon is not ashamed to admit he only _just_ understands. He’s not even sure what Artemis is majoring in, but he knows that Zeus and Hera likely don’t approve.

Demeter uses a piece of modern art as an ash tray, the colorful, handspun glass scorched where the cigarette had been stamped out. He’s about to remind her that there’s a perfectly good ashtray _outside_ , which they’d bought specifically for _her_ (since nobody in the house smokes, and Ares is kind enough to refrain from smoking while he’s over at their house), when Dionysus pops his head in the door. From the scent of alcohol lingering on his breath, it’s clear that he’s already gotten a head start on the festivities. Oh, and he _brought_ alcohol with him, too? How wonderful. Charon can only hope that he didn’t drive himself over—and if for some reason he was stupid enough to have gotten behind the wheel like this, he’ll be taking an Uber home—

Ares and Aphrodite arrive next, little Eros tucked away in-between them. Hephaestus isn’t coming to dinner, then. Charon _really_ doesn’t want to be there when he finds out that Eros isn’t his son… thankfully, that wouldn’t be this year. Then, Apollo, his wife, and their very red-faced baby. Charon can hear the child screaming all the way from the car, tucked away at the end of the driveway. He wishes that he’d borrowed a bit more of that stress-relieving tea when they’d been at Thanatos’ apartment earlier that morning. Just thinking about Thanatos and Zagreus, and what he’d almost walked in on when he’d gone back for their luggage, makes him blush… He still hadn’t fully explained the missing luggage to Hermes.

“So…” He’s torn away from the procession of incoming guests by Zeus’ hands upon his shoulders. Hermes offers him a sheepish smile as he’s led away to a dark corner of the house, where no-one will think to look for his body for several hours, at least. “I think that it’s time for us to have a little chat, son.”

Charon raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t think he’s _ever_ heard Zeus refer to him as ‘son’ before. [Oh? What about, sir?]

“When do you think that you and my son are going to be making things official? He’s not getting any younger, you know.” He looks Charon over once, his eyes narrowed. “Come to think of it, neither are you.”

[Gee. Thank you.] He resists the urge to roll his eyes, but only just barely. [To be honest, we haven’t really talked about it. We had to push the date back, as you know—]

“If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one that suggested pushing the date back—”

[It was a mutual decision.] Charon is not going to stoop to his level. Absolutely not. [I assure you, once we settle on a new date, you will be the _first_ to know. Hermes is always saying how important it is to him that you’re able to make it to the big day.] He’s not—he’s never mentioned it _once_ —but Zeus doesn’t need to know that.

Zeus narrows his eyes at him, “I don’t like you, son.”

[I am well aware of that, sir.] He flashes him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Do you know what I said, when my boy said that he’d walked out on you? I said that it was about damn time.” And, okay. Even if he’d been expecting it, it still hurt—a lot. “In fact, I’m rather disappointed that you ended up back together. The wife and I have a bet going, you see. Now I owe her a _ton_ of money—”

Charon doesn’t even want to _begin_ unravelling that one, [I’m… sorry to hear that, Zeus, sir.]

Zeus is about to respond, when Ares pushes past his father to curl his fingers around Charon’s wrist. “Sorry, old man. Evander is in the bathroom upstairs, sick as a dog and asking for his Papa.”

“Oh, well then.” Zeus deflates a little. It seems like he’s lost all of his oomph, now that he has an audience. “We’ll continue this conversation later, Charon.”

But Charon isn’t listening. If there’s something wrong with one of his boys, then—as soon as Zeus is out of earshot, Ares relaxes, “Sorry about that, man. That was the only thing I could think of to get the old geezer out of your hair. Evander is fine. In fact, he’s foaming at the mouth to open the presents we brought him.”

Charon relaxes at that, [No harm done. I’ll admit, he had me a bit… flustered. I already know how he feels about our relationship, he doesn’t need to rub my nose in it every time he comes over.]

He _really_ wants to tell Hermes. Certainly, his fiancé will tell Zeus exactly where he can shove it… But, Charon had already done enough to jeopardize this holiday. The entire family is here now (well, he assumes that they are, anyway—considering that it sounds like they’d all moved into the dining room), and he’s certain that any attempt to stand up to Zeus will rapidly devolve into a full-on spectacle. It may not be as dramatic as Ares slapping Zeus across the face in the Christmas that would (hopefully) not come to pass, but it will certainly put a damper on the holiday. And so he plasters on a smile and follows Ares’ lead into the dining room, where Hermes is setting up a booster chair for Apollo’s screaming infant.

“Is everything alright, darling?” Hermes asks. Charon takes a deep breath and nods, not quite trusting his hands not to shake should he attempt to sign. Hermes, bless his heart, seems to understand, “How about you help the boys with their presents? I’m sure I can handle finishing… this.”

He nods. Zeus had brought over dozens of presents (more than Charon had bought for the boys himself, and certainly more than he was going to be giving them, now that he’d talked with Nyx). [Do you want me to use your phone to take pictures?]

“If you wouldn’t mind?” Hermes presses his phone into Charon’s outstretched hand.

Charon takes a seat near the tree, watching as the boys tear into their presents (he takes pictures where appropriate, and is a little disappointed when a couple of the shots don’t turn out quite right—he blames it on the faulty lighting; it’s far too dark in the room). As he snaps the pictures, he cannot help but wonder if Hermes will like the present that he’d gotten for him. It’d taken forever to compile enough photographs for an album to document the entire year that Hermes had missed while he was travelling. It wasn’t the most extravagant gift, true, but—

There’s the sound of shattering glass from somewhere in the living room, and then—“Dad!”


	11. The Evil Has Been Banished

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter out! I had to move back to school for my next semester, and things've been a little crazy. Expect the final chapter on Friday!
> 
> TW: Emotional Child Abuse (Giving a Child a Present & Then Taking it Away to Punish Someone Else)

Hermes starts, causing the high chair that he’d been setting up for little Linus to hit the ground with a resounding _thwack_ (thankfully, sans red-faced infant). That has to be the most emotion that _any_ of them have heard in Artemis’ voice at any one time—there’s a part of Charon that’s curious as to what could inspire such an emotional response from the normally detached young woman, and another, larger part that realizes that _whatever_ is was _couldn’t_ be good. He rises, intent on heading into the dining room and helping Hermes to clean up the mess, when he realizes just who is absent from the not-so-little family gathering—

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. There’s only one person in the world whom Artemis calls ‘dad’—even if she, and all of the others, wishes that weren’t so. He picks up the high chair, taking a moment to test its structural integrity (it _had_ hit the ground rather hard, after all), before motioning for Apollo to slide the screaming child into the seat and buckle him in. Then, he checks on Hermes’ condition (he’s shaking, just a little—he never has liked loud noises, not since—), before being sent to investigate the agitated muttering coming from the sitting room. He’s in no mood to find out just what Zeus has done now, but he supposes it’s better than Hermes stumbling upon—

“Who leaves a Christmas present on the _coffee table_ , anyway?” Zeus grumbles, as Artemis attempts to sop up the wine that’d spilled when he’d dropped his glass. The small handkerchief in her hand is sopping wet—so much so that a few droplets of blood red wine drip from one of the hand-embroidered corners.

Present? Charon’s eyes widen—he couldn’t mean… “It doesn’t matter _where_ the present was left, Dad! You need to be more careful with your… you know what? I don’t even know why I bother. It’s not like you’re actually listening.”

Zeus offers his daughter nothing in the way of help, choosing instead to resume drinking from the bottle. “Oh, believe me, dear—I’m listening. Much as I would prefer to do anything but.”

Artemis seems to have decided that sopping up the excess wine is a lost cause, and changes course to attempt to mitigate the damage that’d been done to the pages. She can already see where they’d begun to warp where the wine had touched them, “Who was this present for, anyway?”

Charon’s heart sinks as he looks at the ruined photo album. A years’ worth of hard work, ruined. He still has all of the pictures, of course, but… somehow, it’s just not the same. [It was for Hermes.]

“Oh.” Artemis’ eyes widen, “Well, I’m sure that at least part of it is salvageable! And really, it’s the thought that—”

Zeus snatches the book from Artemis’ hands, “All of that money, and _this_ is what you get my son for Christmas? Really?” Charon’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t comment. Zeus scoffs, “And you were too cheap to even bother wrapping it…” He eyes flit between Charon and the ruined gift, waiting for an explanation.

“Dad!” Artemis’ face is flushed in anger and disbelief. Zeus ignores her, for the most part—concentrating his efforts on getting a proper answer out of Charon.

Before Charon has a chance to explain that, while that was, indeed, the only present that he had for Hermes that year, it was also a compilation of all of the important events that Hermes had missed whilst he was out training and competing, Hermes storms in from the other room, his dark eyes blazing. Charon doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other man look quite so murderous—it would be almost attractive, if it weren’t quite so terrifying. Without a word, he snatches the ruined photo album out of his father’s hands and cradles it protectively to his chest. The action causes the excess red wine to seep into his dress shirt—though, if he notices, he hardly cares.

“Dad,” Hermes’ voice is sharp, “You know that I mean this with all of the love in my heart, but please, for the sake of everyone here, would you just _shut up_?” He hisses. He’s trying to keep his voice down, to avoid garnering the attention of those in the other room. It doesn’t quite work.

Zeus scowls, “And where do you get off, speaking to your father like that? You may be grown—”

Hermes doesn’t back down, “And where do _you_ get off, speaking to _my fiancé_ like that? What he did or did not buy me for Christmas is a private matter between us—so stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

“Funny, because when you were crying to me on the phone two nights ago, _begging_ me to find a way to scrape something together at the last minute because _you_ decided two days before Christmas was the perfect time to leave your precious fiancé, your disaster of a relationship _was_ my business.” Zeus hisses.

“He _apologized,_ Dad.” Hermes curls his fingers around Charon’s wrist, yanking him a little too roughly to his side. “I know that that’s a difficult concept for you to grasp, considering you’ve never said the words ‘I’m sorry’ in your life…”

“You really want to do this? Now? On _Christmas_?” Charon almost interjects then—but Hermes doesn’t falter.

“Yes, I _am_ going to do this now, on Christmas.” He snaps. “Because if you’re going to come into _my_ house and treat _my_ fiancé like this, I don’t want you here for Christmas—or any other day of the year.”

Zeus’ eyes widen a little, “Hermes…”

“I’m sure that everyone here will have a much better time without you here, spouting your condescending bullshit.” This isn’t just about the photo album anymore. Or, perhaps, it never was… “Go back home to your wife. Maybe she can stomach being around you for the rest of the holiday.”

Zeus is silent for a long moment, before he snaps, “Fine. If you wish to treat me so cruelly, so be it.” He storms into the dining room, where everyone immediately pretends like they hadn’t just been listening to their entire exchange through the wall. “I’ll just be taking back these gifts, then!”

He snatches a number of presents out from underneath the tree. He even takes those presents that the boys had already opened, causing Evander to let out a weak, “Hey! That was mine…”

Hermes sets the photo album aside to scoop the teary-eyed little boy into his arms. Evander is reaching out for a remote controlled car that Apollo had just finished setting up for him—Zeus shoves the car, and the remote, back into the bag he’d brought them in in, muttering under his breath about whether or not he’d be able to receive a refund now that it had been taken out of it’s proper packaging. Perhaps, he thinks that, should he cause a large enough scene, Hermes will back down and apologize and ask him to stay. He does not. In fact, he keeps his narrowed eyes fixed on Zeus the entire time, if only so that Evander doesn’t need to see his toy taken away from him again.

The front door slams open and shut a moment later. The handle leaves a visible impression on their wall, which Hermes already knows is going to be unpleasant to fix. Everything about dealing with his father is unpleasant, but his behavior that afternoon had been absolutely beyond the pale. Once he’s certain that Zeus won’t be attempting an encore performance, he turns to find Charon… except, his lanky fiancé is nowhere to be found. More than a little concerned, he adjusts Evander a bit in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his teary cheek and mumbling soft condolences underneath his breath. It’s not much, but it’s something.

Ares points him in the direction of the sitting room. Wandering back to the scene of their most recent Christmas disaster, he finds Charon helping Artemis to clean up the last of the mess. It looks like the wine has permanently discolored their coffee table—a permanent reminder of what had happened here, today. He kind of wants to burn the blasted thing, but he has a feeling that that would just make all of _this_ worse.

“Hey, sis?” Artemis turns to him, her face pinched. He can tell that she’s holding her tongue (she, perhaps more than any of their other siblings, has no warmth in her heart for their father—but there will be plenty of time to commiserate about that later). “Would you mind watching Evander for a little while? We, uh… We need to talk.”

Artemis nods, “Come here, lil’ man.” For being so distant from the rest of the family, she does love the kids. She’ll be a good mother, when she and Calisto are ready. “Cali and I got you a _very_ special present… wanna open it?”

Evander sniffles, before offering a hesitant nod. Hermes pats him on the back, before he and Artemis disappear into the other room. After a moment, Hermes turns back to Charon, who is studying the new stain on the table. “If you tell me that’s the first time he’s talked to you like that, I’ll believe you. But I don’t think it is.”

For a long moment, nothing but silence passes between them. Then, Charon heaves a sigh, [I didn’t want to tell you.]

Hermes sighs, “How long has it been going on?”

Again, Charon looks like he doesn’t want to answer. He fiddles with his hands for a moment, before confessing, [I… don’t remember when it started, exactly. But it’s been awhile. Probably since we started dating.]

His fiancé scowls, “You know that he doesn’t speak for me, right? Yeah, I called him, crying about our fight—but it wasn’t to rag on you, or anything like that. I _needed_ to let them know that I thought the festivities were off, otherwise they all would’ve descended on you today and… well, I suppose they kind of did that, anyway.”

[It’s fine.] Charon forces a smile. Honestly, he’s not upset about any of that. He’s made his peace with the fact that Zeus will never accept him—though it’s nice to know that Hermes won’t tolerate his assholish behavior. [I’m just sorry that he destroyed your Christmas present…]

“I’m sorry, too. But… I don’t think that it’s destroyed. It just… has _character_ , now.” Hermes flashes him a bright smile, “Nothing in this world is perfect. I kind of like that the album reflects that.”

[You’re perfect.] Charon doesn’t even hesitate. Hermes barks out a soft laugh.

“Thanks, love. But if I were perfect, I wouldn’t have kicked my father to the curb on Christmas.” And then, he remembers the way that Zeus had snatched the toy car out of Evander’s little hands. “Okay, maybe I still would’ve. Or maybe I wouldn’t have invited him at all. Who knows.” He sighs, “But, just for the record… you’re pretty perfect, too.”

Hermes presses their lips together in a soft, tentative kiss, his fingers reaching to tangle in Charon’s soft, wavy blond hair. It’s soft and sweet and speaks to the mutual understanding between them that this—all of this—might not be perfect, but it is _theirs_ , and they love every last perfectly-imperfect piece of it. The kiss is interrupted by the sound of the front door opening. Hermes pulls away, his anger bubbling over (if that was Zeus, daring to show his face again after everything he’d done, there would be absolute _hell_ to pay). But then he sees Thanatos and Zagreus’ incredibly concerned faces, the duo decked out in matching ugly Christmas sweaters, and relaxes almost immediately.

“You two made it!” All of the righteous anger from earlier is gone, replaced by the bright, bubbly Hermes that Charon has come to know and love. Even if it is largely an act… it fills Charon’s heart with warmth all the same. “Come, come. We’ve been waiting to start dinner—”

* * *

Nyx’s cooking saves the afternoon—not that Charon had been anticipating anything less than the best. It takes a little while for Evander to calm down, so Hermes moves his seat so that he’s sitting in-between Apollo and Dionysus, his two favorite uncles. Dionysus is clearly already drunk (though, thankfully, not so far gone that he’s started breaking things, like their father), and has begun regaling the boy with stories of the latest disaster wedding that he’d planned. Apparently, the bride had decided to run off with one of her bridesmaids at the last minute, throwing the entire ceremony into chaos. Evander listens closely, hanging on every word, until ultimately declaring:

“When I grow up, I’m gonna marry Apollo!” Apollo promptly chokes on his sparkling cider, while his wife laughs so hard she nearly knocks herself off of her chair. Dionysus also starts laughing. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Why would you want to marry _Apollo_?” Dionysus quips, “His own _wife_ didn’t even want to marry him. It took him months of begging, and the Rock of Gibraltar, for her to even _consider_ it.” Apollo narrows his green eyes at his brother, causing Dionysus to hurriedly add. “And now they’re _very happy together_.”

Evander considers this for a moment, before responding, “Because he’s pretty!”

Apollo chokes again. His wife offers him a couple of helpful thumps on the back, while Artemis chimes in with, “He _does_ have a point, brother. You have a sort of… delicate beauty about you.”

Apollo shrugs, “Well… _one_ of us had to be pretty.”

“Fuck you.” Ah, there it is. Artemis always comes out of her shell a little bit more when their father isn’t around. A little bit, but it’s noticeable, all the same. “Aunt Demeter, would you pass the sweet potatoes?”

Even Demeter seems to be in a somewhat better mood, without Zeus around to make off-color jokes about her and the others. Still, she cannot help but get in a quick dig, “You shouldn’t eat quite so much, darling. That is, if you want to keep fitting in those tiny little dresses of yours.”

Artemis stares into her cold, dark eyes as she scoops an extra helping of sweet potatoes onto her plate, “Gee, thanks for the advice. I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” She pauses a moment, then gives herself another spoonful for good measure. Dionysus snorts, but otherwise, no-one comments.

And this… this is the Christmas that Hermes had wanted. It is by no means perfect, but it is decidedly lacking in the tension that would be present if Zeus was there, looming over each and every one of their heads. There’s a part of Hermes that wishes that things could be different. He feels bad, after all, that Zagreus worked so hard to get into touch with the rest of his family, only to discover that they were just as bruised as broken as his own little sect. This was by no means the way that family was _supposed_ to be, but they’d been like this for so long, Hermes didn’t think that there was a way to go back. The only thing to do now is move forward, and hope for the best.

If this is the last time that he talks to Zeus, he doesn’t think that he’ll mind. Yes, it will be disappointing if his father cannot get his act together in order to enjoy their wedding, but… to be honest, if he acts half as atrociously at the ceremony as he did just before Thanatos and Zagreus arrived, he doesn’t want him there. There is more than enough chaos and disorder in the world, without having to worry about whether or not your father will through an epic temper tantrum on what _should_ be the best day of your life. Speaking of which… he reaches under the table to take Charon’s hand in his, offering it an appreciative squeeze.

Charon raises an eyebrow, concern reflected in his pale eyes. Hermes just shakes his head, “Did you ever think about just… eloping? We could do it on the second, right after the holiday. I know that we’ve already sunk all of this money into the actual ceremony, but…”

The entire table is staring at them in wide-eyed wonder. Dionysus is the only one who looks a little panicked—after all, their wedding was set to be his biggest event of the year… whenever it happened. [I think… a lot of people might be disappointed if we decide to call off the wedding now.]

Hermes shrugs, “Then, let them be disappointed. It’s our wedding, not theirs.” And then, “Besides, we can still have a kick-ass reception. I’m just… I’m tired of continually pushing it off. And I’m tired of that asshole using the fact that we’re not technically married yet to treat you poorly.”

Charon offers him a small smile, [You know he’ll just find another reason, right?]

“Yeah, well fuck him and the high horse that he rode in on.” Ares interjects. “We all know that you two are perfect for each other, so he can take his opinion and shove it up his ass.”

Okay, the language is getting a _bit_ extreme now. Apollo nods, “The old fuck doesn’t like Eumelia, either. But he wants to be allowed to see his grandkid, and so he grins and bears it.” And then, “Hermes, the truth is, he’s getting upwards in years, and too many of us work in medicine now to piss us off.”

Athena chimes in with, “You usually just have to stand up to him the once, and he won’t bother you again.” She says. “So if this is what the two of you want, then great. We’ll support you all the way. But don’t let dad dictate how you want to live your life, because that means he’s won.”

Hermes takes a moment to allow her words to sink in, before nodding. Turning back to Charon, he confesses, “I… don’t really care how it happens. I just want to marry you, and be with you forever. So, I suppose that this is really your decision to make, Charon, love. How would _you_ like to get married?”


	12. The End

“…and we would like for you to come down to the courthouse with us to be one of our witnesses.” Hermes says, a bright smile on his face. Charon gives his hand a comforting squeeze; though he has little of substance to add, he is more than happy to lend his emotional support.

They had decided, back at the house, that it didn’t matter _how_ they were married, so long as they were able to ring in the new year as husband and husband. Dionysus had been upset, until Hermes had assured him that he would still be in charge of putting together the reception. Honestly, Hermes felt as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Planning a wedding was hard work, especially when said wedding had been postponed no less than three times for some reason or another. He knows that it’s not particularly _romantic_ to say that he just wants the damn thing to be over and done with, but… Well, if this whole endeavor has taught him anything, it’s that there’s no use in waiting around until everything is perfect—because nothing will ever be perfect.

Still… even if they were to head down to the courthouse to be wed, they would need witnesses. Hermes had been uncertain who to ask, considering the competitive nature of his entire family. To ask any one of them to come, at the expense of the others, would earn him their collective ire for the indefinite future. Charon had suggested Nyx, to which Hermes had wholeheartedly agreed. Nyx had been like a second mother to him for most of his life, it was only natural to want her there for the biggest day of their lives so far (the birth of their boys aside, though she’d been there for that, too). Charon had also suggested that Hermes reach out to his own mother, Maia, and see if she was interested in attending. Hermes had been both surprised and touched by the suggestion.

He wasn’t particularly close with his mother. This was not from a lack of desire to get to know her, but rather Hera’s desire to alienate, and antagonize, the mothers of Zeus’ various illegitimate children. On the one hand, he felt bad for his step-mother—she was trapped in a loveless marriage, forced to raise the children that had resulted from her husband’s various affairs. On the other hand, it irritated him to no end that she used her status as Zeus’ legitimate wife to belittle the other mothers, most of whom hadn’t actually been trying to get pregnant.

“I… truly don’t know what to say.” Nyx looks tired. Charon wonders if she was able to get _any_ sleep before the hordes descended upon her. Maybe he’ll have a talk with Hypnos about squeezing in a therapy session for her tonight…

“Well, ideally you would say ‘yes’.” Hermes smile falters a little. Charon offers his hand a quick squeeze, “I know that it’s rather short notice, but it would only pull you away from your work for an hour or so. Please, it would mean a lot to the both of us if you were there.” He says.

Nyx offers him a small smile, “My child, I was never going to say no. I was just… surprised. You’d been planning this ceremony for so long, I never expected you to be so… comfortable with the idea of throwing all of that out in favor of something quick and simple at the courthouse.”

Hermes shrugs, “As long as I’m marrying this one… I don’t care how. I’d hold the ceremony in the middle of a deserted island, without a soul to be found, if we didn’t need to have at least two witnesses to make it official.”

Nyx smooths a hand over Charon’s tousled blond hair, “You certainly found yourself a romantic, Charon.”

Charon raises Hermes’ hand to his lips, and brushes them gently over his knuckles. He makes no move to let go of Hermes’ hand in order to sign, but the message he is trying to convey comes across loud and clear.

“I’ll be there.” Nyx says. And though she’d already made her intentions clear, it’s nice to hear it again. “And, if you, by chance, still need a second witness when the day comes, I would suggest that you ask Thanatos.” She continues, as if she didn’t know that Charon and Thanatos were barely on speaking terms at this point.

“I, um…” Hermes chuckles nervously, using his free hand to tug at one of the ends of his red, orange, and yellow ombre scarf. “I’m not sure that that’s the best idea. Than didn’t seem too pleased with us this morning…”

“Oh…?” Nyx raises one delicate eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

Charon slips his hand from Hermes just long enough to sign, [We had sex in his guest bedroom.]

“Charon!” Hermes smacks his shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but certainly hard enough for the sound to reverberate throughout Nyx’s small living room.

Charon looks entirely unapologetic. Nyx doesn’t appear the slightest bit surprised—in fact, from the look on her face, Hermes is half-expecting her to launch into a tale of how thin the walls are in the bedrooms upstairs. Which, okay, he’d kind of always known that Nyx knew he and Charon were having sex (the incident where Hypnos had tried to make balloon animals out of Charon’s condoms sticks out in particular—though the fact that Nyx had _given_ them a box of condoms for Valentine’s Day in their senior year of high school, along with a card, reminding them to ‘wrap it before you tap it’, was a close runner up (and also, easily, one of his most embarrassing childhood memories)). But it’s one thing to _know_ , and it’s another thing to have to sit there and _talk_ about it.

Now Hermes is, by far, the most talkative one in the family—on either side. And normally, he’s not one to shy away from topics that were difficult… or even embarrassing. He can remember sitting down with Charon, early on in their relationship, and explaining to him, in excruciating detail, every facet of his home life. His father’s affairs. His seemingly endless number of half-siblings. The feeling of being trapped somewhere between _who you are_ and _who your parent_ wants _you to be_.

Despite the fact that Ares had _finally_ managed to find something he was good at, Zeus chose to harp on the fact that he made substantially less than his siblings that’d gone to college—

(He’d wanted to go to a trade school, but Zeus wouldn’t let him. It was ‘real’ college, or nothing at all.)

Despite the fact that Artemis was well on her way to earning her Ph.D., Zeus chose to focus on the fact that she was thirty-five years old and still unmarried. Don’t even get him started on Calisto…

Despite the fact that Apollo loved his wife to the ends of the earth, Zeus chose to belittle her every time she attended a family function. Last Christmas, she’d burst into tears when Zeus had asked if ‘all of that weight was really healthy for the baby’…

(Apollo had only barely restrained himself from decking their father. It’d taken Hermes _hours_ to convince them to show for Christmas dinner this year.)

Despite the fact that Hermes and Charon had been together for almost half of their lives now, Zeus chose to mistreat Charon behind Hermes back, to treat him like trash for… Hermes didn’t even know. It didn’t matter.

Enough was enough.

He… got a bit sidetracked there, didn’t he? He clears his throat awkwardly, realizing that both Charon and Nyx are staring at him, waiting for him to reply to a comment that he didn’t register. Charon takes hold of Hermes’ hand again and squeezes, offering him a modicum of comfort. It’s his way of saying that he’s listening, if Hermes wants to talk about whatever it is that’s on his mind. It’s a profoundly sweet gesture, and he loves Charon for it, truly… but the last person he wants to spend time thinking about right now is Zeus. While Zeus’ absolutely abhorrent behavior had most definitely had a part to play in bringing them here, now… The reason he wants to march down to the courthouse on the second and say those two magical words that will bind him to Charon forever is because—

“I love you.” He says. It comes out a bit like a question, though, so he repeats himself with a firmer, “I love you.” Charon presses their foreheads together, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You know,” he turns to Nyx, laughing a little, “sometimes, when I was a kid, I wished that you would adopt me.”

The comment is sad and sweet all at once, and Nyx doesn’t appear to know what to do with it. Hermes doesn’t know what he _wants_ her to do with it. “Well… in a way, I am, now.” She offers. “When you marry Charon and take his name, you’ll officially become a part of my family. Although… I must say, I feel like you’ve been one of my children for ages, now.”

 _That_ warms Hermes’ heart. “Thank you, I… I’ve always thought of you as the mom I never had. That’s why… it was so important to me… to _both_ of us… that you were there at t-the—”

Hermes doesn’t even realize that he’s begun to cry until Nyx presses a delicate finger beneath his eye to catch a stray tear. “Now, now. No more tears. This is a happy day.”

Hermes launches himself into her arms, nearly taking her off of her feet. Nyx’s eyes widen—Hermes is rarely, if ever, so aggressive with his displays of affection—but soon enough, she relaxes into the hold, wrapping her lithe arms around Hermes’ middle and tucking his head underneath her chin. The poor man is sobbing now, the stress of the day finally catching up to, and overwhelming, him. Charon reaches out to rub a massive hand up and down his fiancé’s back, as Nyx whispers soft words of comfort into Hermes’ ear. Charon is well aware of his own faults—his little trip into the past, present, and future had lain them out rather plain—but as far as he’s concerned, if anyone had spoiled Christmas this year, it had been Zeus. And poor Hermes had had to keep it all in, until now…

It takes a long time for his crying fit to subside. Nyx doesn’t rush him. Instead, she holds him fast and coaches him on his breathing, preventing him from starting to hyperventilate. When he finally _does_ start to calm, she has him drink a cool glass of water—and eat some of the Christmas cookies that Meg had yet to claim for herself. He eats slowly, careful not to choke, and practically keens as Nyx slides onto the seat beside him and begins to comb her fingers through his long, dark curls. At times like these, he really _does_ feel like one of her children…

“Now,” she says, once she’s reasonably sure that he’s calm. “Since I doubt that you two will be renting tuxes for the occasion, how about we see if we can’t find you both something beautiful to wear for your special day…”

* * *

In the far corner of the living room, Hypnos lets out a long-suffering sigh as he stares down at Meg’s head in his lap, “I suppose we’ll just have to wait until _next_ Christmas to tell them the news, then.”

Meg’s left eye twitches as she reaches up to flick Hypnos’ nose, “Pregnancies don’t last that long, you dolt.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter [@MsThunderFrost](https://twitter.com/MsThunderFrost)


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